


There's a Crown, Covered in Glitter and Gold

by MissELY



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, F/M, Harry is Lord Potter, Hermione Granger-centric, Light BDSM, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 127,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22043428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissELY/pseuds/MissELY
Summary: A mysterious object is uncovered in the depths of the Ministry, causing chaos and concern.Desperate for a change, a challenge, and a better way to pay for the care of her ailing mother, Hermione agrees to work for the Ministry on solving that mystery.This sets her on a path towards the recently returned Harry Potter, who is trying to root out corruption in a deeply flawed system, towards her old Hogwarts bullies who are longing to see her fail, and towards a crown, that she will wear, whether they like it or not.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 1611
Kudos: 1784
Collections: Good Girl Hermione





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lord Potter/Royalty AU. There is front-loading to explain this AU, given that it diverges wildly from canon. The basic is that Sirius never went after Pettigrew and instead immediately took custody of Harry. To protect Harry, Sirius raised him out of Britain and Harry never attended Hogwarts. This, of course, has impacts on what happened at Hogwarts during those years. 
> 
> Inspired in part by [ Viviat Regina by sarhea ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/429396/chapters/725062) and [ Harry Potter and the Soulmate Bond by Keira Marcos](http://keiramarcos.com/fan-fiction/harry-potter-the-soulmate-bond/)
> 
> (Ch 1 Edited on 1/22 for grammar/legibility but the content remains the same.)
> 
> Cross-posted on FFN under MissELYLux, version there is T, version here E/NC-17. Updates will be here first.
> 
> Title from the song Hallelujah by Oh Wonder

**JUNE 2008**

The front door closed in a jerky motion, and the only customer in Cranville Quincey's Magical Junkshop wandered out back on to Diagon Alley.

Hermione sighed deeply as she made her way back behind the till. Her hand drifted listlessly over the odds and ends displayed on the counter.

It amazed her how she could feel both frantic and incapable of motion, day in and day out. She grabbed an artifact off of the counter; she had been trying to disassemble before the customer had come in.

Hermione Granger was perfectly capable and competent, thank you very much. She had even been called “the brightest witch of her age” by one of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors who had lasted less than a full year at Hogwarts. She graduated top of her class, with 12 NEWTS, all Os, with glowing recommendations from professors. 

She had even excelled after Hogwarts. Post-graduation she had gone abroad and gotten a Mastery in Alchemy from the foremost expert in the field. She had worked in the Magical Research Department of the Sorbonne. In her post-mastery work, she had gained the equivalent of a Mastery in experience in Magical Artifacts and Ancient Ruins.

That was why, 10 years out from her Hogwarts graduation, she was mystified at how she ended up tending the till at Cranville Quincey's Magical Junkshop. She hadn't thought she would be Minister for Magic by 27. However, she had thought she was destined for more than this.

Much to her dismay though, Magical Britain had been even less welcoming and more discriminatory than she had ever expected.

Sure, there were no outright bans on Muggleborns working in the Ministry. But only a token few ever progressed past Junior Undersecretary. The few that made it higher were the worst sorts of kiss-ups. The only one from her year who she had heard of was Justin Finch-Fletchly. He had been promoted Assistant Deputy in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee two months ago. 

The last time she had seen Justin, he was drunk in the Leaky Cauldron. She had overheard him bragging to a busty blonde about how his boss had recently let him take notes in a meeting with the head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was Sally-Anne Perks. Perks had been a Hufflepuff in their year. Perks had been forced to repeat 4th year because she failed all of her classes but Divination. Perks was also pureblood whose father was a childhood friend of the Minister.

Even at 17 Hermione had known that as a Muggleborn she was not in a position of power in Britain. She had gone abroad for her Mastery and apprenticed under Nicolas Flamel in France. Headmaster Dumbledore had made the apprenticeship possible by writing her a glowing recommendation. After her Mastery, her work at the Sorbonne had opened prominent doors for her at other research institutions. 

She _had_ planned to spend the rest of her life away from Britain. After France she had considered going to Russia. She had heard interesting things were happening in the Hermitage.

However, family responsibilities had called. Her parent’s health had declined rather precipitously three years ago. She had no other family or support system that could help her care for them, so the responsibility to care for her parents fell on her shoulders. 

She returned, albeit reluctantly. At first she was even happy to be back in the UK. She couldn’t say she missed the rain, but she had missed a good cup of tea. And there was something about coming home.

“Ouch!” Hermione saw the blood bloom from the nick she had made in her thumb when the artifact she was tinkering with slipped slightly out of her hand. She brought her thumb to her mouth, wiping the coppery blood off her skin with her tongue before healing herself quickly. She cleaned off the streak of blood that had gotten on the object. That’s what she got for tinkering with her mind on something else.

Her mind frequently seemed on other things these days. Primarily her mother and how she could escape this dead-end job.

The first month back in the U.K. had been a whirlwind. She had burned through her savings, trying to get her parents settled. Her father had been diagnosed with cancer shortly after her arrival home. With the bills and the time spent in the hospital, her parents could not maintain their dental practice. The NHS hadn't covered the experimental treatments her mother had insisted on, and the cost of caring for an ailing relative added up quickly: groceries, petrol, a special bed, the list went on and on. She had helped her parents sell their practice and moved in with them to try to help with everything. Then it was a constant stream of activity, ferrying her father back and forth to doctors' appointments, trying to make sure her mother was remembering to eat, and ensuring all of their bills got paid. 

She had applied to jobs, but the first 50 resumes she had sent out got no replies. She thought it was a fluke at first. She had done her Mastery with the foremost expert in Alchemy. She had written papers in four different disciplines, all of which had been warmly received by the academy. 

After three months of no replies and a nearly empty bank account, she had asked Neville Longbottom, a friendly acquaintance from Hogwarts, if he knew what was happening to her applications.

It had been Neville who had explained how deep the prejudice in Britain ran. He told her that despite all of her academic credentials and experience, she wasn't considered a “fit” employee for most of the positions she was applying for because she did not meet the one unwritten requirement. She didn’t have magical parents. 

Hermione had been so angry that she had had to physically remove herself from the conversation and forced herself to walk the five miles back to her home instead of apparating just to give herself time to calm down. When she got home several hours later, she was still furious and her magic had lashed out, causing her to accidentally brake several plates. She had made herself to take a calming drought to get through the rest of the day.

When another month of applications had still yielded no results and her bank account actually hit zero, Hermione had become desperate. She swallowed her pride and asked Neville if he knew anywhere, literally anywhere, that would hire her. He told her that his second cousin was hiring someone to keep the till at Cranville Quincey's Magical Junkshop. 

That had been three years ago. Every 6 months or so she would send out a flurry of job applications, but nothing ever came of them. In between the flurries she conducted her own research, wrote papers, and cursed the backwards blood purity ideals so deeply entrenched in Britain.

Her father died a year ago, and things had only gotten harder. So she stayed put, making sure that she had enough to cover her rent, her mother’s medical expenses, and food.

It made for a rather lonely existence. The only people she regularly spoke to were her mother, who was more often than not unresponsive or incomprehensible, the rotation of nurses that the muggle are service provided, and customers. 

She rarely spoke to Regus Quincey as he had little interest in the shop he had inherited. She most frequently spoke to Cranville Quincey, the original proprietor. Quince, as he liked to be called, was a ghost. She thought it rather sad that her closest friend had not been alive for 25 years.

Hermione was jolted from her daydreaming by the bell on the door jingling as someone pushed it in rather forcefully. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil walked in the door, engrossed in their own conversation and talking at an elevated volume.

“I heard he was coming back so he could finally make use of his title” said Lavender, raising her eyebrows. “Lord Black returned almost 8 years ago and has been serving as the Potter proxy.”

“That would be interesting,” Parvati replied, “we haven’t had a Potter in the Wizengamot in over 25 years. I heard that he was offered the position of Minister!”

“I don’t think he would be Minister, Shacklebolt just got the position 2 years ago. But I did hear that there was a chance that Potter would be elevated to Duke of Slytherin for his battle against You-Know-Who.”

“Duke of Slytherin? That's not a real title! Besides, the nobility is dwindling and is hardly ever talked about outside of the Wizengamot.”

Lavender finally noticed Hermione behind the counter and made a startled gesture.

“Hermione Granger? I heard you were in...Spain was it? Studying something?”

Hermione made a grimace she hoped would pass for a smile, “France studying Alchemy. I’ve been back in the UK for three years now.”

“Oh...and you work...here?” asked Lavender, eyes widening.

The grimace pulled down at the corners of her mouth more, “yep.”

Neither Lavender nor Parvati had ever treated Hermione with anything that approached kindness in her 7 years as their roommate and classmate. Hogwarts had not been a fun place for Hermione. When she entered at 11 she had hoped that a new environment with more understanding peers might be just what she needed after a primary experience that had left her friendless and bullied. Unfortunately, that had not been the case. The only difference between her muggle and magical peers had been that the magical ones were able to physically hurt her more.

Parvati and Lavender exchanged a look that Hermione interpreted as laced with smug contempt.

“Well, that’s nice” said Parvati, glancing around the shop in poorly concealed disdain.

“Is there something you two are looking for specifically?” Asked Hermione, eager both to end this conversation, and to get them out of the shop as quickly as possible.

“Oh, well Mrs. Weasley mentioned that you might have back issues of Witch Weekly” said Lavender.

Hermione gestured them over to the back wall that was lined with bookshelves which were stuffed to the brim with books and magazines. “Witch Weekly is in the far left bookcase on the second shelf from the bottom. We don’t have every old issue, if you want a specific issue I would go to Flourish and Blotts, for a fee they can owl Witch Weekly and get you a copy if you know which issues you want.”

The other women navigated the crowded display floor back to the bookcase Hermione had indicated.

Hermione returned to her book as she heard Parvati and Lavender sort through the magazines, cooing and talking in low voices to each other about what they were finding.

Hermione briefly wondered whatever had happened to Lavender and Ron’s relationship. From what she could recall, they had dated casually 6th and seriously 7th year. And Lavender had just name dropped Mrs. Weasley. But Lavender didn’t have a ring around her finger and Hermione couldn’t recall seeing any wedding announcements in the Prophet.

Hermione dismissed her curiosity about Lavender’s love life and flipped the page on her book.

After about ten minutes the women made their way back to the counter, several Witch Weekly’s clutched their well-manicured hands.

They had gathered all the issues that had any mention of Harry Potter on the cover. The oldest one must have been at least 25 years old and had a baby Potter being carried by a scowling Sirius Black. The newest issue must have only been a couple of months old and had Potter dodging camera flashes outside a nightclub in Wizarding New York.

Parvati and Lavender dropped their purchases on the counter and Hermione began ringing them out and putting the issues in a bag.

Parvati watched as Hermione deposited the payment in the till.

“So do you just work here then?” Parvati asked.

Hermione attempted to conceal a wince.

“No. I also publish academic papers from time to time. And I make some of the merchandise found here in the store.” Hermione replied, going for a cool and unconcerned tone, but managing to sound slightly waspish.

“Oh. Anything we would have read?” Parvati had a look on her face that indicated she doubted that would be the case.

“Probably not,” Hermione admitted. “I’ve mostly published in academic journals.”

“Oh, well” said Parvati, pressing her lips together in a repressed smirk.

Hermione bit her lower lip in an attempt to physically hold back a response. She had nothing nice to say to these women, and all she wanted in that moment was them out of the shop so she could return to tinkering in silence.

Her success in academia was largely anonymous. Hermione published under a pseudonym, in part because when she had first submitted her papers under her real name they were all rejected. Just because the Continent had less blood purity prejudice didn’t mean that plain old misogyny didn’t have a home there. When she began using the nom de plume of “H.J.G. Smith” things had gone smoothly for her. Her pen name was both anonymous and androgynous. It had the added benefit of not being identifiably muggle. Plus Smith was her mother’s maiden name, so it wasn’t a huge stretch. 

While her work was notable and garnered interest in speaking engagements, she never went to conferences in the UK. And recently she hadn’t had much time to go to any conferences at all.

Her most recent paper had been about the use of elemental offensive magic as a means of subverting traditional shielding methodologies. While it had attained note in the academic community, it had only made her enough money to pay a fourth of her rent. Hence the side job.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Lavender asked, making no effort to control the interest in her voice.

Hermione allowed herself to roll her eyes a little and hummed under her breath, wondering how little she could say without being outright rude. Her response a few years ago would have been that she was focusing on her career right now, but given her current circumstances, that hardly made for a believable answer.

Hermione settled on a version of the truth. “At the moment my focus is on my family, my father passed away recently and I’m helping my mother out.”

She had no desire for Lavender to take the tale of her woe, or worse, the tale of Hermione putting on airs, back to the old Hogwarts crew. One of the reasons Hermione liked working at the Junkshop was that none of her classmates ever entered. There were at most 4 regulars, and most of the clients tended to be above 100.

Parvati and Lavender made perfunctory sounds of sympathy as Hermione finished ringing them out, handing Parvati the bag of magazines.

“Well, thank you for stopping in” Hermione said with a forced smile. 

Parvati looked like she wanted to linger, but Lavender pulled Parvati towards the door with a wave and a “Tootles!” over her shoulder to Hermione.

Hermione rolled her shoulders, trying to release some tension that had built up there, and reached for the artifact again.

Hermione momentarily pondered the return of Harry Potter and then dismissed it. 

Harry Potter was a legend in wizarding Britain. He had been called “The-Boy-Who-Lived” after surviving the murder of his parents by Lord Voldemort as a baby. His godfather, Sirius Black, had then gotten custody of him. 

Black whisked Potter off to France, where he was raised away from the wagging tongues of the British press. It was said that Black trained Potter to be a warrior, that he was militant about the boy’s security, and that he had even dabbled in dark magic to ensure his ward was protected. 

There had been other rumors too, that Potter had been somehow changed by Voldemort’s attack, and that Black had taken him away not for the protection of the child, but to protect the populace from Potter.

Potter hadn’t returned to the UK to attend Hogwarts, a fact that the Daily Prophet had lamented almost weekly for more than twenty years now. 

Instead, Potter had been tutored by the best in all fields. Rumor was that even Dumbledore flooed over to Potter’s home once a week to teach him magical theory and alchemy. At 18 Potter had received dual Masteries in both Defense Against the Dark Arts and the Dark Arts. He had then accepted a job at MACUSA as an Auror and moved off to New York.

Tales of his exploits had reached across the ocean, and about once a month the Prophet would have a front-page story about Potter. Inevitably Potter would have taken down a wannabe Dark Lord, thwarted a dragon smuggling ring, or saved a train full of schoolchildren. The distance made the stories seem more daring and romantic. He had been promoted to Head Auror about 6 years after he started at MACUSA.

Hermione finally managed to pry off the front of the artifact she was examining and smiled at her success. She examined the interior peering in to the artifact at the small runes carved on every interior surface of the object. She reached for her wand that she had been using to keep her hair out of her face and ran it over the artifact, performing a series of diagnostic charms.

The artifact looked like a small pyramid. The gold of the object was tarnished, and it looked like it had passed through many hands to get where it was now. It had been part of the estate of a wizard originally from Mexico that the executor had recently sold to the Junkhop. Regus Quincey had been unable to identify it. So it had fallen to Hermione to identify and price it.

The last diagnostic charm glowed light yellow and then red before blinking out. Hermione frowned. The yellow meant that it had the capability to store magic, but only a limited amount, and the red meant that either to construct it initially or to use it properly required blood magic.

“Something spark your interest?”

Hermione jumped as Quince floated up through the floor to look over her shoulder

Hermione glared at the ghost. “I wish you wouldn’t do that when I am working on a potentially dangerous object.”

“Well, everything in this death trap is potentially dangerous,” muttered Quince. “My great-grandson has been doing an atrocious job keeping inventory moving.”

“Then you should tell him that and not bother me with it.” Hermione returned her focus to the pyramid.

“Those runes aren’t ones normally used in Europe” remarked Quince, fiddling with a pocket magnification tool and examining the pyramid over Hermione’s shoulder once more. 

Hermione brushed her thumb along the flat of the cover she had pried off. “No, but they don’t appear to be Latin American in origin, which would have been my guess given the previous owner.” 

She reached to her right and opened a drawer, grabbing a pen and a piece of parchment.

“I don’t know why you insist on using those infernal muggle contraptions” said Quince, his ghostly lips pulling down in a frown.

“As I have told you a hundred times, quills are messy, you need ink, and I simply do not have the patience. Besides, I already caved and stopped using printer paper.” Hermione jotted down a few notes, and then turned pack to the pyramid.

Quince, obviously wanting to avoid an argument they had rehashed multiple times, changed the subject. “What did those young ladies want?”

“To bring me misery” responded Hermione, still distracted by the pyramid.

“I thought they were in to buy magazines.”

“Oh, that too.”

“I heard them talking about someone, Putter? Potter?”

Hermione glanced up at Quince, frowning slightly. “Potter. Harry. ‘Boy-Who-Lived.’”

“Ah yes. I remember something about him. From before” Quince was young for a ghost, Hermione had learned. Because of that, the research told her that he had the clearest recall of the life he had when he was alive and his ‘dead-life.’ When ghosts aged, they would start to forget. They tended to forget their ‘dead-life’ first, but they would also forget things from their time alive. Mostly feelings, but sometimes other things too.

“Yes, he would have become famous shortly before you died” Hermione frowned, trying to do the mental math. “Maybe a couple of months before?”

“Yes. I remember now. That You-Know-Who bloke. He died?”

Hermione continued to frown. “Yes, I believe so. I think there was some remnant of him banished maybe ten years ago? But the newspapers never went into much detail about it. I think Potter might have done that too.”

Quince raised his ghostly eyebrows, looking more quizzical than usual. Quince always looked slightly quizzical, or maybe puzzled was a better description. 

Hermione could tell he had been tall in life. He had bushy eyebrows that were frequently drawn together, trying to work out the puzzles that came in to his shop. His lips were thin and he was all hard angles, from his sharp cheekbones, to his boxy shoulders, to his pointy elbows. 

He was dressed in robes slightly too large for his lanky frame that had lots of pockets. In life the pockets had held odds and ends used for examining objects and artifacts. In death they held translucent versions of the same tools. He and Hermione had experimented with the accuracy of his ghost-tools. They had both been shocked to find out that despite their translucent state; they were as accurate as the tangible versions. When he had held up his magnifying tool to Hermione’s eye though, it had not worked at all.

Hermione shrugged in response. “I never really kept up much with that. He was gone by the time I entered the wizarding world.”

“They were dark times, before, during the war.”

Hermione looked more closely at Quince. He seemed unhappier than usual. “I read the books. It was bloody.”

“Huh. Yes, bloody is right. I lost an apprentice in an attack on Diagon.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It was very long time ago.” Quince sighed.

Hermione was quiet, not knowing what to say. She had never seen Quince in this sort of mood before, sad, introspective.

“Well, what were the chits saying about Potter?”

“Oh, uh, apparently Potter is coming back to Britain.” Hermione responded, happy to be back on surer footing. “He was an Auror in the States.”

“And do they think they’re going to catch him? He’d be a big fish. He’s titled, and at least when I was around the Potters had more money than you could shake a stick at.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m sure they’d like to. Last I knew Lavender, the blonde one, was dating someone from school. No idea about Parvati though.”

“You should try to catch him.”

Hermione could not contain a disbelieving laugh. “Catch _him_? Highly unlikely. We will not be running in the same circles. Not in the same universes.”

Quince tapped his long fingers on the pocket magnification tool he still held, looking contemplative. “You never know. I’d always heard the Potters had brains. Perhaps he’s inherited them. Or at least a love for women with them.”

Hermione scoffed. Her focus returned to the pyramid that rested on the counter in front of her. “Nonsense.”

Hermione shook her head to dispel the thoughts of Potter. It was a waste of brain space; it wasn’t like she was ever going to meet him anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione receives an interesting offer of employment.

**JUNE 28, 2008**

Hermione flipped the sign on Cranville Quincey's Magical Junkshop from “Open” to “Closed” with a flick of her wand.

“Goodbye Quince!” Hermione called over her shoulder, setting the security wards as she made her way towards the employee apparition point in the backroom of the shop.

Hermione grabbed her bag from the backroom and apparated to an alley near her apartment with a pop.

She had warded a corner of the alley with notice-me-not and silence charms in order to create a safe apparition point near her home. It was not explicitly legal, but it also was not explicitly illegal, so Hermione figured it was fine as long as she wasn’t caught.

Hermione checked the alley to make sure there were no muggles around and stepped out of the bounds of the charms she had placed.

The walk to the apartment she shared with her mother was short. It was a block and a half from the apparition point to their multi story complex.

Hermione took the stairs up to her apartment slowly, squaring her shoulders in anticipation of interacting with her mother.

Joyce Granger neé Smith had been a vivacious woman. She had been a career woman through and through and had loved her husband Philip Grager deeply. When she found out she was pregnant with Hermione, she had been less than thrilled, but had made the best of it. Phil and Joyce loved Hermione in their own ways and were elated when she ended up being so intelligent and independent. 

Hermione turned the key to her front door, calling out “Mum?”

The entryway was dark, but Hermione could see a light in the kitchen. “Mum?”

Joyce was sitting at the kitchen table facing a wall. Hermione could see that her mother’s eyes were blank, staring at nothing. 

Her mother was no longer full of life as she had once been. While they had never had the best relationship, Hermione remembered her mother as loud, opinionated, and in constant motion. Hermione had inherited her mother’s unmanageable hair that had a life of its own, but Joyce’s curls, once with a life of their own, were almost flat against her head. 

After the death of her husband Joyce had retreated into herself. Major depression coupled with a form of disassociation and maybe some sort of post-traumatic stress associated with Philip’s illness and death, the doctor said. The doctor had prescribed pills which Joyce had refused to take, and therapy, which Joyce had refused to attend. 

When Hermione had suggested they consult a magical Healer, Joyce had thrown a fit. Joyce blamed magic for not saving Philip. And blamed Hermione too.

Hermione had taken her father to St. Mungo’s when he first received his diagnosis. The Healers had almost refused to see him, because of his status as a Muggle. But her galleons were as gold as anyone else’s so she had been allowed a consult for him.

It had been for naught. The Healers couldn’t do anything. Cancer was not an illness that wizards and witches developed. They got Dragon Pox, had spells backfire, or were infected with magical bugs, but the uncontrolled growth of abnormal cells was not something that ever happened to magical beings. There was nothing the Healers could offer her father, other than potions for pain. 

Joyce had been so angry, angrier than Hermione had ever seen her, after the meeting with the Healers. Hermione could still remember her mother, red-faced and shaking, screaming in her face. 

“Well, what good is your magic anyways! You are killing your father!”

Joyce had apologized, a couple of days later, but it was clear to Hermione that the apology was not entirely sincere. It was also clear that her mother still had a lot of rage about her husband’s illness, and that the rage was at least in part directed at Hermione.

Hermione knew that her parents loved her. She had been a daddy’s girl, but both of her parents had been the ones who held her when she cried after school, had read to her every night, and had supported her decision to go into research. But she also knew that they had not been happy she was a witch. 

At first it had been frightening for them. Hermione’s accidental magic had scared her parents badly. Despite their firm atheism, Joyce and Philip had considered consulting a priest for an exorcism when Hermione had made small stones float, follow, and pelt a boy who had been teasing her in the park. 

When Professor McGonagall had visited their home after Hermione’s eleventh birthday, they had been pleased. It was novel to have a magical daughter, and though they could not brag to their friends, but pretending that she was heading off to an exclusive, elite, and secret boarding school had made up for it.

Each return home had gotten progressively more difficult. Every June Hermione would return knowing new spells, with new magical objects and treats stuffed in her trunk, speaking what was essentially a new language that neither of her parents could ever learn. Neither parent ever made an effort to understand the magical world. Her father had been better at adapting, but that just meant he ignored magic outright. Joyce had never fully shed the fear she had felt at Hermione’s accidental magic, so each year her fear of her own daughter had built. Joyce’s fear frequently manifested as anger, which saw screaming fights between Hermione and her mother more often than not by the end of her schooling.

The novelty had fully worn off after a few years, and when Hermione decided not to go to Muggle University, her parents simply could not understand her life anymore. Being away for 9 months of the year had made Hermione drift away from her parents and choosing to go to France after graduation had furthered that drift. Hermione would come back for Christmas, and would call a few times a year, but the contact was very limited until her father became ill.

“Mum, did you eat anything today?” Hermione walked towards the refrigerator. She opened it and saw the meal she had left her mother for lunch and snacks she had bagged still there.

Joyce didn’t answer Hermione.

“Mum, I made chicken and vegetable stir-fry. Is that alright?” Joyce gave no indication that she heard Hermione.

Hermione busied herself reheating leftovers she had prepared over the weekend. She normally made sure that her mother at least ate breakfast and dinner. But with a nurse only coming in for a few hours in the morning, lunch normally was ignored.

Hermione set a plate of food in front of her mother. 

“Here you go mum. I’ll get you some water too.”

Joyce came out of her stupor as the plate knocked loudly against the fork that was already on the table. 

“Oh, Hermione. Leftovers again?”

“Yes mother. I was working all day and didn’t have time to-” Hermione sighed deeply. “Yes mother. Leftovers.”

The women were in silence for several minutes as Hermione prepared her own plate.

Joyce picked up the fork and began to pick at the food listlessly. 

“We need to go to the cemetery tomorrow,” Joyce said abruptly.

“I can’t tomorrow Mum. I have work. We just went a few days ago. Can we go this weekend?”

Joyce let the fork fall with a loud clink on to the plate. 

“Your father was an honorable and kind man. The very least you could do is visit him,” she hissed.

Hermione let her eyes fall closed as she took a deep breath. 

“Yes Mum, he was. We’ll go this weekend. You’re welcome to go on your own though.”

Joyce pursed her lips in disapproval and picked her fork back up. 

“I suppose this weekend will have to suffice. Though your unkindness would embarrass him.”

Hermione nodded and returned to her own meal. She knew her mother would never go on her own. Joyce had not set foot outside their apartment without Hermione in months.

A year ago, her father had passed away, and much to her shame, she briefly thought that maybe now she could leave Britain again. She had desperately wanted out of her job, out of Britain. She wanted to go back, back to somewhere, anywhere that would appreciate her mind and let her do the sort of work she wanted to do. 

But Hermione had not been able to leave. As soon as her father was in the ground, Joyce had fallen apart. 

It should not have surprised Hermione as much as it did. Her mother had adored her father, they had not been apart for more than 3 days since they were married. Joyce had always been passionate and a bit unstable. Philip had been her rock. His death had come as such a huge blow, and Hermione had been unprepared to deal with the fallout. 

After the funeral, Joyce didn’t sleep for days, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk to anyone. Her condition shifted after a few weeks. She would eat, but only sparingly, and only when Hermione put the food in front of her and put a fork in her hand. She would sleep, but that would lead to her not getting out of bed for days. She would talk, but could not sustain a conversation longer than three minutes with Hermione without yelling at her. She could not have a conversation with anyone else at all. But her condition was not so severe that muggle adult protective services could step in, and no care homes would take her. Not that Joyce would have agreed to go in to care. 

Instead, Hermione had restructured her life again. 

She had sold her childhood home and used the proceeds to pay off some debt her parents had incurred during her father’s illness, credit cards, a personal loan. She found a modest two-bedroom apartment in a development that had sprung up in their neighborhood. She hadn’t wanted to take her mother away from the place she had lived for 25 years. She stayed at the dead-end job she hated, because it provided stability and a reliable paycheck that covered most of their expenses.

“Are you done eating Mum?” Hermione was pleased that her mother had managed to eat most of the plate. That was better than she did most days.

Joyce nodded absently and reached to light another cigarette.

“Mum, I’ve told you, not in the house.” Joyce did not respond, and Hermione did not have the energy to do anything more.

Hermione was frequently short on energy these days. 

Every morning Hermione would wake up early and write or research whatever academic project she was currently engaged in. She would then help her mother get dressed and ready for the day. She would make breakfast and make sure that the door to her bedroom was locked and that all magical paraphernalia was put away. Hermione would have a brief conversation with the nurse who she paid to watch her mother for a few hours during the day, and then she would dash off to the Junkshop, arriving by 8am.

At lunch she would call and check in with her mother. About twice a week that phone call would mean that she needed to use her brief lunch break to apparate back home and remedy whatever emergency had popped up. 

Hermione would then return for the rest of her shift. During the workday she would help whatever clients came in. But the bulk of her work was identifying, repairing, and pricing items that came in to the shop. She would then close the store at 8pm. At 8:01 she would return home, serve dinner to her mother and herself, read the nurse’s report, and attempt a conversation with her mother. After getting Joyce settled in bed and in front of the television, Hermione would work on her own research and then fall in to bed sometime around midnight. Rinse and repeat six days a week.

Joyce had taken one puff of her cigarette and then put it in the mug next to the other, which had burned out. 

“Mum, why don’t you get in bed. I’ll put something on the telly.”

Joyce levered herself up from the kitchen chair and shuffled towards the larger of the two bedrooms.

It was not a happy life, but Hermione felt trapped. 

When her father had first died, she had tried to get her mother to therapy repeatedly. She had contacted muggle social services, who had told her that her mother was still capable of making decisions for herself, so there was nothing they could legally do, other than offer her resources. Joyce refused all the resources. 

Hermione had tried setting Joyce up in her own apartment, but when Hermione had stopped by, it was clear that Joyce had not showered or eaten in several days. Her mother had been in the same clothes she was wearing when Hermione had left, and there were holes in the bed and the sofa where Joyce had left cigarettes burning. So Hermione found the two-bedroom apartment and ferried Joyce to medical appointments, just like she had with her father.

Hermione discovered that when an adult refused to do anything, refused to take care of herself, but was still considered competent by doctors, there was very little other people in their lives could do to help.

It was clear that Joyce was just waiting around to die. Hermione was sure that her mother had not taken any affirmative steps towards that end, other than taking up smoking, but it was a cold comfort.

Hermione had been concerned that her mother would hurt herself, so she had hired a nurse to come in for a few hours every day. Hermione was not sure it did much good, but it eased her conscious.

Joyce got in bed and Hermione turned on the television and handed Joyce the remote.

“Good night mum.”

Joyce did not respond.

Hermione left Joyce’s door cracked and made her way towards the smaller bedroom.

Hermione removed the wards on the room by rotating her wand around the doorknob. She always kept her room warded when she was away. She did not trust Joyce not to destroy the magical objects within, and she did not trust the rotating nurse service employees not to snoop.

Hermione settled behind the small desk she had fit in her room and started editing her latest academic paper. 

She was continuing to research the use of elemental magic in practical applications. In particular, her focus was on the ability to imbue physical items with elemental magic, so that other magical users could make use of them. It was an understudied field, in part because of the esoteric nature of elemental magic and the amount of raw power that it required to use safely.

A few hours later Hermione rubbed her eyes and realized that it was past her bedtime. She changed into her pyjamas and settled in to try to get some sleep.

**AUGUST 3, 2008**

The next few weeks proceeded much as the previous ones had. 

Hermione made no progress with her mother, though she managed to get her newest academic paper published by Alchemy International. That brought in some much-needed money that Hermione used to pay for another month of the in-home nursing services.

More frustratingly, the pyramid Hermione had been disassembling had not revealed its secrets to her yet. There had been other projects that she had seen to, but inevitably once they were done, she would come back to the pyramid. She had completely catalogued the runes inside it and was in the process of cross-checking their meanings with various runic dictionaries. She still was not quite sure what it did, but she was sure it was relatively harmless in its current state and that the object would not be something that customers would be particularly interested in. The runes were unclear in origin, a strange mix of Celtic, Aboriginal, Native American, and South East Asian that Hermione had never encountered before. She had sent out inquiries to her old Ancient Runes professors, but had yet to receive a response. The blood magic aspect still intrigued her, but she had gotten her blood on the object accidentally on the day Lavender and Parvati had come in to the shop, and nothing had happened. She hypothesized that either the blood magic must have been used in initial assembly or that it was disabled and had no function in its current form. She was toying with the possibility that it was part of a larger object, but she still had research to do.

Hermione was in the middle of her cross-checking when a nondescript owl pecked at a window pane by the counter. Hermione walked to the window and opened it. The owl flew in and landed on top of a bookshelf filled with various glass vials next to the window.

Hermione reached for the owl’s leg and untied the letter. Apparently awaiting a response, the owl flew to the till and stayed there. 

Hermione looked at the envelope in her hand. The letter was addressed to H.J.G. Smith and the seal on the back was for the Ministry. 

Hermione’s brows knit in confusion. There was no one at the Ministry with whom her academic alter-ego corresponded. She could not think of why she might have gained the attention of the Ministry either. 

She had set up an owl post office box to deal with her H.J.G. Smith correspondence. Owls addressed to H.J.G. Smith would be routed to the post office box, and she would collect them once a week. The exception was for urgent letters, in which case the service would accept delivery of the letter and then immediately tie it to one of their own owls and route them to her at the Junkshop. This letter was maker “URGENT” on the front in large red letters that had been charmed to flash. 

“Do you need an immediate response?” Hermione asked the owl. 

The owl hooted, and Hermione interpreted it as a yes.

Hermione checked the letter for curses out of force of habit. There were some people who were unkind about her research regarding elemental magic or ancient artifacts. They were few and far between, and the post office service purported to screen those out, but her brief brush with fame after Rita Skeeter found out that Krum had asked her out made her wary.

“From a lover?” Quince floated in from the backroom.

“No, it’s from the service, it was sent to my academic correspondence address.”

Hermione opened the letter and began reading.

_To: H.J.G. Smith_

_From: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic_

_Consultation Request_

_Date: August 3rd, 2008_

_Dear H.J.G. Smith,_

_We hope this finds you well. The Ministry of Magic has need of your expertise. The Department of Mysteries has recently come across an artifact that our experts cannot identify. The artifact is of great importance to our history and is extremely valuable but there is difficulty dealing with it. It is creating strange magical occurrences in its vicinity and will not allow anyone to access it. The lead on this project is aware of your expertise in this field. We would appreciate if you could consult with our experts. Our budget would allow for a modest consulting fee of 7 galleons an hour. We do not have an exact estimate on how long this might take, but we anticipate it taking a number of weeks._

_We would appreciate a speedy response, as this is of very high urgency._

_Thank you,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

Quince was reading over her shoulder. “This is exactly the sort of opportunity you were looking for!” 

Hermione bit her lip, considering the offer. “But it’s only a few weeks of work. You know that Regus has never let me take off more than 3 days in a row. He threatened to fire me the next time I asked.”

“My descendant is an idiot,” said Quince fiercely. He looked indignant. His eyebrows were crazier than usual, and he was gesticulating wildly with this eyepiece. “You simply cannot let him dictate your choices!”

“Well, I’m not letting him dictate. I’m simply being logical about this. The hourly consulting fee being offered is more than I make here. But my income here is assured. This new opportunity could provide further employment, but there is no guarantee, especially once they know who I am—well, what I am. I don’t have the sort of savings built up that would allow me the time I might need to find another job after the few weeks are up. I have to say no.”

Quince shook his head. “You are making a mistake. That letter was from the Minister of Magic himself!”

“Maybe. But I’m just not in a position to take financial risks. Though I do wonder what they mean by ‘magical occurrences.’”

Hermione reached to the drawer with her pens and parchment and begin to write a polite refusal. She also provided other experts in her field who might be of use, and the name of a private curse breaking company that did good work. She then signed the letter with a little flourish and put it in an envelope.

She figured that one of her recommendations could consult with the Ministry, though she could not deny the pinch of envy she felt in her chest. She would have loved to investigate this mysterious object.

Hermione addressed the envelope and tied it to the owl’s leg. Hermione followed the owl as it flew from the till to the open window. Hermione closed the window behind the owl.

Quince shook his head, putting away his eye piece. “You have made a mistake.”

“Could be. But it’s my only option right now, ” said Hermione, frowning at the departing owl.

Hermione walked back behind the till and picked up the runic dictionary again, returning to her research.

About an hour and a half later, the owl was back.

Hermione opened the window to the owl again. “Really?” she asked it, bemused.

The owl landed back on the till and held out its foot. Hermione untied the letter and went through the same checks for spells, again finding nothing.

Hermione opened the letter.

_To: H.J.G. Smith_

_From: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic_

_Re: re: Consultation Request_

_Date: August 3rd, 2008_

_Dear H.J.G. Smith,_

_Thank you for your prompt response, however we are not prepared to accept your rejection. The leader of this project is adamant that you are the only qualified expert who can provide any relief to this situation. He particularly said to mention that this is directly related to your paper from 2 years ago titled “Magic Masking in Ancient Celtic Artifacts and its Impact on Retrieval and Use” and on your pre-Mastery paper, “Practical Applications in the use of Fire in Magical Artifact Forging and Use.” He is insistent that you are the only individual with the unique combination of expertises required. If the consulting fee is the issue, the Ministry can offer you 14 galleons an hour._

_The urgency stems from injuries that some researchers have suffered as a result of attempting to retrieve the object. We believe that the artifact needs to be retrieved as soon as possible, however that is not possible as long as it keeps sending our foremost experts in this field to St. Mungo’s._

_Again your prompt reply is appreciated._

_Thank you,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Quince, they’ve offered me double their initial consulting fee!”

“Determined aren’t they?” Quince floated back towards her to read the letter.

“It definitely seems so. I have more leverage than I thought.” Hermione frowned, trying to determine exactly how much leverage she had. “Do you think I could ask for longer term employment?”

“I think this _project leader_ would bend over backwards to get you on this project.” Quince said. His frown almost matched Hermione’s.

“I just hope he isn’t some weird fanboy. That would be...awkward.”

“Are there many elemental magic and ancient artifact super fans?” asked Quince mildly.

“More than you would expect.” said Hermione dryly.

Hermione reread the letter, tapping her pen to her lips, contemplating her reply. 

“So what are you going to ask for?” questioned the ghost.

“Do you think asking for a year commitment would be too much?”

“The not of this letter makes it seem like you could ask for the moon and they would find a way to deliver. The danger and urgency aspects certainly make your expertise more valuable,” Quince said.

Quince was right, Hermione had specialized in more dangerous object research in her time at the Sorbonne. Her title had been “Researcher,” but in reality she served as a combination curse breaker, historian, and spell developer. 

“A year would let me get my foot in the door. But maybe I should leave it open?”

Hermione grabbed a parchment and penned her response.

_To: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic_

_From: H.J.G. Smith_

_Re: re: re: Consultation Request_

_Date: August 3rd, 2008_

_Dear Minister Shacklebolt,_

_I was most alarmed by the report of injuries. I hope your researchers are recovering._

_If the project leader insists on my inclusion in the project, I must insist on further terms. The concern I have is that my current position will not allow me to return if I take a leave of absence to consult for the “several weeks” mentioned in the previous letter. Therefore, I would need a longer term employment commitment from the Ministry. Preferably in the Department of Mysteries, but I would also be able to be of use in any research division. I would need at least a year long contract._

_If these terms are amenable, please send a binding employment contract in return._

_Best,_

_H.J.G. Smith_

Hermione waived Quince over. 

“Do you think this is suitable?”

Quince got his reading glasses out of his chest pocket and peered at the letter. 

“Yes, this will do nicely. You make no mention of compensation though. Add a sentence about the compensation of 14 galleons an hour being suitable.”

“Good catch.” Hermione added the sentence and read the reply through once. She then put it in an envelope and sealed it. She waived the owl over and attached the reply to it’s leg.

The window was still open from the owl’s entrance so Hermione followed it out to close it after the owl flew out of it.

“Now to wait,” said Hermione, making her way back behind the till.

Less than an hour later she received a reply. This envelope was thicker than the previous two. Hermione opened it and saw that the first page was a letter and the next five were an employment contract. Hermione read the letter first.

_To: H.J.G. Smith_

_From: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic_

_Re: re: re: re: Consultation Request_

_Date: August 3rd, 2008_

_Dear H.J.G. Smith,_

_Those terms are more than acceptable. Our injured researchers are under stasis at St. Mungo’s, but are stable. We have managed to get the object contained for now, but the situation remains urgent. Attached is a two year contract. We hope that the length and other concessions incentivise your quick response. If you accept, our team leader requests that you start immediately and come in tomorrow morning at 8am. Enclosed is the contract._

_Thank you for your time,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

“I really wonder who this mysterious ‘team leader’ is,” said Hermione, placing the letter to the side and starting in on the employment contract.

“Well whoever they are, they have excellent taste in academic literature,” mused Quince from his place beside her.

The employment contract was more than generous and reaffirmed to her that they were desperate for her help. The rate of pay was the 14 galleons an hour that had been offered in the previous letter. In addition, there was a guarantee of at least 40 hours of work a week, with overtime for anything over that. There was paid vacation, her own office, a team of 3 researchers who answered only to her, and even a clause that guaranteed she could continue her own independent research and have it remain her own intellectual property. The contract had a termination clause that gave the right for the Ministry to terminate the contract only in case of her death or permanent incapacitation. It gave her the right to terminate the contract at will after 6 months.

It was astonishing that the Ministry went from ignoring her applications for entry-level positions to offering her the equivalent of the moon.

Hermione was flabbergasted. This was the most surreal development of her life since Minerva McGonagall had told her she was a witch.

“You would be an idiot not to accept immediately.” Quince announced after Hermione laid out the contract for him to pursue.

Hermione rubbed her forehead with one hand, still holding the contract with now shaking fingers. “For once I agree with you Quince,” she said softly, “I don’t know why the Minister calls these ‘concessions,’ I didn’t ask for those, so he could not have conceded anything.”

Hermione read through the contract once more to make sure she had not missed any glaring legal traps. She briefly contemplated contacting an expert in magical contract law, but dismissed it. In good conscious she could not delay when people’s lives were in danger. The letter had not said that the injured researchers were recovering, merely under stasis.

On the signature line, the Minister had already signed on behalf of the Ministry. Hermione got a real quill and ink from a drawer and signed her name on the designated line. The contract replicated itself with a pop, and one copy disappeared with another pop.

Hermione gathered her copy of the contract along with the three letters from the ministry and folded them up.

“Well, now I have to give notice to your great grandson.” Hermione gestured for the owl to remain put as she reached for a parchment. If she was going to be nice, she would have offered to train her replacement, but Regus had never been kind to her, and she felt like the situation did not allow her that luxury. 

“I will miss you young lady.” Quince looked forlorn, his grey eyes sad, and his smile bittersweet. Before Hermione had started at the Junkshop Quince had been ignored. Regus had refused to listen to him or even hold a conversation with him, and customers didn’t tend to enjoy being lectured about the ancient Sumerian origins of the design of the pretty ring they wanted to buy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Quince. My contract clearly stated I had control over my team of researchers, including its composition. You’re my first hire. Congratulations.” Hermione said tartly. She met Quince’s eyes and smiled softly. “That is, if you want to be. You’re my best friend. And you’ve forgotten more about ancient artifacts than I’ve ever known.”

Quince stared at her for a second, obviously shocked. His look of shock turned in to a bright smile. He clapped his hands together joyously. “Of course! A mystery surrounding an artifact! Adventure! Danger! This will be the most fun I’ve had in over a hundred years!”

Hermione returned his bright smile and tied her notice of resignation to the owl’s leg, giving it Regus’s address.

“Is there anything you need - we need to do before you come with me?” Hermione asked, turning back towards Quince. “I’m relatively unfamiliar with spectral ritual.”

“No, I am free to move. I need to return here periodically, maybe once a month for a day or so, to keep up my strength. I need that occasional proximity to a place or a person I was close to in life. If I had any remaining living enemies I would use the opportunity to haunt them.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you for coming with me Quince.”

“My pleasure, dear. You’re the one who is going to have to sell it to the Ministry. I gave up arguing with them back in the 1800s.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, still smiling. “I’ll just have to hope that the project leader is so enamored with my brain that they ignore how high maintenance you are.”

It was only 4pm, so Hermione had a few more hours until the shop closed. She went back to her research, ecstatic that this was her last day at the Junkshop.

Her workday was once again interrupted two hours later, when Regus threw open the door with a bang that knocked down some knickknacks from the shelf next to the entrance.

“Here we go.” Hermione muttered under her breath. She had never liked Regus, not one bit. Though normally her deference to those in positions of power would have made her think twice about her contempt for her boss, he was both stupid and lazy, a combination she couldn't abide by.

Regus stormed in, all hot air and bluster. He was everything Quince was not. Regus was short and stocky where Quince was tall and willowy. Regus had lost most of his hair and was largely bald with thin, angry looking eyebrows where Quince was all wild hair and eyebrows that were out of control. Regus had always treated her with thinly veiled contempt where Quince had always taken her ideas seriously and treated her as an intellectual equal. It was amazing they were related at all.

“You absolutely can’t leave!” barked out Regus.

Hermione made her expression as neutral as she could manage. “Well, Mr. Quincey, we never had any sort of employment contract, so I’m not required to work for you for a certain length of time. I gave you as much notice as possible, but I will not be in for my shift tomorrow.”

Regus was red, and the vein in his temple was so pronounced that Hermione was concerned it might pop.

“You have to! I have... obligations! I can’t cover your shifts.”

“Mr. Quincey, I told you that you needed another employee to cover me when I couldn’t work, but you refused.”

Hermione watched as Regus forced himself to keep his breathing regular.

“You have to train your replacement! I don’t have the time!”

Hermione began to drum her fingers on the counter, still trying to reign in her frustration and anger. “Mr. Quincey, I told you, I have to start my new position tomorrow morning, I do not have time to train a replacement.”

Regus’s eyes darted. It seemed to Hermione that he was desperate to get some win from this conversation.

“I have another estate set for delivery. I can’t identify some objects. You must do it.”

Hermione did love object identification and repair. “Well, Mr. Quincey, I don’t know what sort of free time at my new job, but I would be willing to consult in object identification. For a fee of course.”

“A fee?!” Regus had lost control of his breathing again and was huffing like he might hyperventilate and pass out at any moment.

Hermione kept herself from smiling even though her heart was racing from the confrontation with her soon-to-be former boss. “Yes, Mr. Quincey. A fee. I know the expert you used to work with charged 20 galleons per hour. I can beat that rate. I would only ask 12 galleons per hour, and 25% of the sale of the object.”

Regus’s fists were clenching and unclenching. Hermione knew she had him cornered. 

Hermione had done her research when she first started working at the Junkshop. She had been curious when Regus had first asked her to start identifying and pricing objects. It was clear that he did not have the expertise in magical artifacts or history to have done the identification before she arrived. During downtime in her first month of employment she had found some contracts laying around. There were receipts for the outsourcing the identification of objects that had listed the contractor who Regus was using prior to hiring her, the fee charged, and the details of the service provided. The receipts made it clear the Regus was being overcharged for the services he received. Regus had just handed the contract to a Hogwarts buddy of his, and been scammed for his trouble. But that didn’t mean that Hermione could not take advantage of Regus’ lack of research.

Hermione had not been able to use the information to negotiate a higher salary for herself. She had lacked negotiating power. Regus had threatened more than once to just fire her and go back to running the shop himself when she asked for vacation. But Hermione was happy that the information was serving her well now.

Regus blew out a large sigh. “Fine!” He snapped. “Fine! But I expect you to be available for at least two object identifications week after next.”

Hermione had won. She felt a sense of pride swell in her chest. “As I said Mr. Quincey, I don’t know my work schedule yet, but as soon as I do I will let you know about my capacity to take on consults.”

Regus just glared at her. He turned abruptly on his heel and left in the same tantrum that he arrived with.

Hermione beamed at Quince who made a rude gesture at Regus’ retreating back.

Hermione used the remaining time at the Junkshop to pack up her personal belongings and select the few pieces from the shop that she wished to purchase. Her purchases included the pyramid she was still researching, several books on ancient magic, including a book on Celtic ritual magic, a book about the history and use of Fae magic, and a first edition of Hogwarts a History that she had hep hidden in the dust cover of a book on toads of North America. Hermione also selected a broken pensive that she was positive she would be able to fix.

All of her purchases gathered and paid for, Hermione shrunk them and put them in her pocket.

When it was time to close up shop Hermione paused to make sure that there was nothing she was forgetting. She didn’t feel sad about her departure. She had never been happy at the Junkshop, despite her friendship with Quince. In many ways her time employed here had represented a period of life where she was trapped by society and obligations, unable to take a step in any direction.

“Good riddance” Hermione muttered.

“See you at noon in the Ministry Quince! Meet me in the atrium by that horrible fountain!” She called out as she began setting the wards for, what she hoped would be, the last time.

With that, she apparated out of the shop and made her way back home.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What you should take away from this is that you should always ask for and welcome help when you need it and you should always negotiate the terms of your employment.
> 
> I am American and have no familiarity with the British healthcare system, so I borrowed from what I know about the American healthcare system.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's first day at the Ministry is full of surprises, personal and magical.

**AUGUST 4, 2008**

Hermione did not consider herself a vain person. She had never put much effort into her appearance beyond what was required to pass through society with little notice. But today was special, or at least that was what she was telling herself. In reality she was channeling her anxiety about today by aggressively shoving hangers from one side of her closet to the other, trying to find the perfect thing to wear. 

She had her old uniform from Hogwarts, but that would be an unacceptable choice. For one, it no longer fit. During school she had been on the too thin side, frequently skipping meals to spend time in the library, away from her housemates. She had filled out since then, becoming more womanly and softer all around. More importantly though, she wanted to be seen as a professional woman, not a child.

She had her work robes she had used at the Sorbonne. Good for protecting her clothes, but not what she wanted to wear to make a good first impression, though she did shrink them and place them in her workbag. 

She had a set of dress robes from her Mastery ceremony. They were good quality and still fit, but they were not what she would wear for a first day at work. She finally settled on a set of robes that she had purchased for job interviews. She had bought them when she had last been optimistic about all the job applications she was submitting. 

Hermione felt a little manic from a combination of too much coffee, too little sleep, and nerves. She felt silly spending so much time fretting over clothes, but she wanted to make sure she presented a strong first impression. There were many people she attended Hogwarts with who worked at the Ministry. She wanted to be sure that when they looked at her now they saw a competent, intelligent woman, and not a little girl who was a know-it-all and a target for bullies.

Hermione put on her robes and put her hair in a low chignon, securing it with her wand. She made her way out of her room, closing the door and warding the door behind her.

Hermione looked in to her mother’s open bedroom, leaning on the door frame. “Mum, I’m going to my new job. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, and I don’t think I’ll be able to call at lunch.”

Joyce was still in bed and made no response that she had heard Hermione. 

“I’ve left a yogurt and a spoon at your bedside table. There is also fruit in the kitchen." 

Joyce turned over in her bed so she was no longer facing the door and could not see Hermione.

“Okay Mum, bye.” Hermione sighed out.

Hermione made her way to the front door and slipped on her only pair of heels she owned. She gave one last glance around the common areas to double check there were no magical items out of the nurse to find. 

She locked the apartment door behind her, made her way down the building stairs and to the alley she warded for apparition.

* * *

There had been no instructions who to contact at the Ministry, so Hermione settled for going through the visitor’s entrance. She made her way to the phone booth and dialed the code. 

She was greeted by a smooth, pleasant voice that asked her name and purpose for visiting the Ministry. Hermione gave her name as H.J.G. Smith, and her purpose for visiting the Ministry as “Consulting.” The lift descended and provided Hermione with a visitor’s badge. Hermione pinned the visitor’s badge to her robes and noted that it identified her by her pen name. 

She stepped off of the lift started walking towards security, aiming to ask them for directions. She walked like she trained herself to in Paris, chin up, with a purpose, not making eye contact with the hustle and bustle that flowed around her. 

She paused when she heard someone to her right call out “M-Miss Smith?”

She turned towards the caller and was surprised to see Penelope Clearwater, a half-blood witch who had been several years above her in Hogwarts. She liked Penelope, she had always been kind. Both she and Penelope had been petrified by a basilisk in Hermione’s second year. Dumbledore had killed the basilisk and all those petrified had been revived a few days later. While they had not really spoken afterwards, Penelope would at least smile at her wherever they crossed paths in the halls. 

Hermione watched Penelope’s face as her eyes flicked from Hermione’s visitors badge, to her face, and back down to her visitors badge. Her eyebrows shot up and Hermione could see her jaw drop. It was funny if not a little insulting at how shocked Penelope looked. 

Penelope tried to school her features to a welcoming smile as she hustled towards Hermione, holding a folder close to her chest. She was dressed impeccably, in a t-length dress that flared out around her legs beautifully. Her long curly hair was secured away from her face with a pretty decorative clip.

“Hermione? Hermione Granger? You’re H.J.G. Smith?” Penelope asked, not keeping the surprise out of her voice. 

Hermione gave Penelope a small smile. “Yes, Smith is my mother’s maiden name. I found that getting published was...easier without associating it with my last name or gender.” 

Penelope’s mouth twisted slightly in sympathy, and she nodded. 

“Well, this will certainly be a surprise to all involved. I don’t know if you remember me, I was a few years ahead of you, Penelope—” 

Hermione allowed her smile to grow. “Yes. Clearwater, right? You and I often competed for last in the library on weekends. I suppose it will surprise some people. I haven’t been around much.”

“It’s Weasley now, I married Percy Weasley a few years after our graduation.” Penelope held up her left hand briefly. On her ring finger was a small but tasteful engagement ring and wedding band. “I’m also the Assistant Department Head for the Department of Mysteries.”

“Oh, congratulations on both counts,” Hermione said, “what a lovely ring.”

“Thank you. Last I heard you were working abroad. Is that where you came from?” Penelope asked, guiding Hermione towards security. 

“No, I’ve been back for a couple of years now. Doing this and that.” Hermione said, trying to keep up with Penelope’s long strides. Hermione was not short, she was in fact exactly the average height for a British woman. But Penelope was tall with legs that went on for days. 

Penelope noticed Hermione’s struggle and slowed her pace slightly. “Sorry about the rush it’s just that—oh!” Penelope thrust the folder she was holding at Hermione. “This is for you. It has all the information we have about the... artifact. But don’t open it until we are in a secure location.”

Hermione took the folder from Penelope and tucked it under her arm. “A secure location? The letters I got were very unclear on exactly what was needed. Or what the artifact was. Or really anything at all.”

They reached the security desk. The man behind the station looked very bored as he gestured for Hermione’s wand. He worked at a leisurely pace that made Penelope tap her foot impatiently at the slow progress. He finished the registration process and let them through to the lifts.

Penelope hit the button to call the lift. “Yes, well, it’s all a bit all over the place, but all the information we have is in the folder I gave you. I’m taking you to one of our secure workrooms, and then we will have a meeting with the project leader and other interested parties.”

“Who is the project leader? Who are the interested parties?” Hermione asked, stepping on to the lift behind Penelope.

Penelope hit the button for the 9th floor. “The team leader is the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, members of the team include a representative from the Auror Department, the head of the Department of Mysteries, the Chief Warlock and the most senior Wizengamot member, the head of the Spell Damage Ward in St. Mungo’s, and a representative of the Goblin King. The Minister of Magic, while not on the team, does have a vested interest in this outcome.”

Hermione attempted to keep the astonished look off her face. She was sure she failed. That was a shockingly influential group of people. She was, however, a little confused as to who was included. Both the Auror Department and the Wizengamot generally had little to do with ancient artifacts. 

The elevator dinged at 9 and Penelope led Hermione out and through a set of doors. They were moving quickly so Hermione did not have the opportunity to look around much before being hustled down a long hallway and into a medium-sized conference room that had a long oval table in the center.

Penelope closed the door behind Hermione and activated the privacy charms built in to the room. She then took out her wand and cast three additional security spells, the first two variations on keeping others from hearing or seeing what was going on in the room. The last one was a spell Hermione didn’t recognize.

“What was that last spell? It didn’t sound familiar? Is the root language Irish?” Hermione tilted her head, curious.

“Yes,” Penelope said, “the charm is  _ Gan Aon Chluasa  _ , my Irish grandmother taught it to me. She used to use it to keep children from overhearing her gossip with her friends, but I’ve discovered it’s also good at negating any listening charms already in place without breaking them.” She grinned, “it has a lot of use around the twins.” 

Hermione asked for the pronunciation once more and memorized it. 

“Very useful,” she said, taking a seat at the table. “May I read the file now?”

“Yes, of course. The meeting will begin in…” Penelope pulled a pocket watch from in her robe and glanced at it, “just a few minutes. I recommend looking at the pictures first, but there are reports in there as well.”

Hermione opened the file. The first few pages were wizarding moving pictures of a glass cube, its panels held together by what looked like gold. There were runes etched in to the gold. She could see a hinge along one edge and a latch opposite it. The glass was opaque and smoky grey, but there seemed to be a light emanating out from inside the cube. 

As the picture shifted it highlighted the runes on the glass itself. It was a work of art. The glass was entirely even and very thin but the etchings were deep, even and very precise, the work of a master.

The next few pictures were closeups of the runes on the gold edges. They were exceptionally complex. Hermione recognized some of them as a strange mishmash of languages. There were some that were very ancient Celtic, others as Welsh, some Anglo-Saxon, there were a good number that were Roman in origin, and some that she recognized as precursors to the more modern proto-Germanic runes. There were a few she had seen on artifacts from Alaska, and she even spied a rune that was Chinese in origin. There was seemingly no order or logic to the runes used. 

“I’m going to need to make notes. Is that alright?” Hermione asked without looking up from the picture in her hand.

Penelope said yes and Hermione removed a notebook and pen from her bag. Hermione began noting the different origins and on a separate page made notes on which dictionaries and books she anticipated needing.

The runes on the glass were even more confusing. All the panes looked to be completely covered in runes, but not in precise lines as would normally be seen, but in clusters, almost like flowers. There would be a large central rune, and then smaller ones coming off if it like petals. These rune flowers covers the whole surface of every panel except one. There was one pane that interested her in particular, the one that had the hinges on one end and the latch on the other, marking it as the lid of the box. On that pane was a blank square, right in the middle. That square was the only bare part of the artifact.

There was a knock at the door, and Penelope stood and removed the privacy charms she had put up. She then opened the door and let some of the most important people in wizarding Britain into the room. Hermione stood to greet them.

Lady Augusta Longbottom was the first through the door, Hermione recognized her from their brief meeting at Hogwarts’ graduation. Next was Fleur Delacour, she had been the Beauxbaton’s Triwizard Tournament Champion. Hermione had never had any interactions with her, but she remembered how much the boys, and some girls at Hogwarts had salivated over her. 

The next person to enter the room was Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. His face was grim when he entered, but he broke out in a wide grin when he saw Hermione. 

A few steps behind Headmaster Dumbledore was a man in his late middle age who she recognized as Saul Croaker, the head of the DoM. She had seen his photo in the Prophet a few times. Behind him Hermione was dismayed to recognize Ron Weasley and Theodore Nott. The last person in was Harry Potter.

Their eyes met for a second and Hermione felt electricity brush down her back, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. His bright green eyes almost crackled with power, and Hermione had to force herself to break their pull. She identified her own reaction as partly stemming from attraction, but she had been attracted to others and had never had this reaction before. 

Potter looked as good as he did in the last Witch Weekly centerfold she had seen of him. He was tall, over six feet fit with broad shoulders. Messy black hair partly obscured his notorious scar, but despite its disarray he still managed to look professional and put together. His clothes were expertly tailored and subtly expensive. The only word that Hermione could come up with was beautiful, he just looked beautiful and had a quiet power about him. 

It was clear from the expressions of the newcomers that a good number either did not recognize her, or were not happy with her presence. Headmaster Dumbledore wore his welcoming smile still, but Ron Weasley’s expression had turned stormy. Theodore Nott, ever the consummate Slytherin, had quickly schooled his shocked look into something that passed for neutral curiosity as he smoothed down the lapels of his St. Mungo’s Healers robes.

Albus let out an involuntary laugh and made his way towards Hermione as she stood. Dumbledore grabbed one of her hands in both of his and gripped them warmly. 

“Miss Granger!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “I should have known! You were always singularly brilliant. I’m so happy to see you.”

Hermione smiled slightly and blushed. 

“Thank you Professor, I appreciate that. It’s lovely to see you too.”

“Let me perform the introductions,” said Penelope. “Headmaster Dumbledore you obviously know. This is Lady Augusta Longbottom, Dowager Countess of Kay, and member of the Wizengamot.” 

Lady Longbottom’s hand felt fragile, all bird bones and paper-thin skin, but her grip was fierce. 

She peered at peered at Hermione from under the brim of a very flamboyant hat, her hand still holding Hermione’s tightly. 

“Miss Granger, is it? You graduated with my Neville didn’t you?” 

“Yes ma’am. We were in Gryffindor together.” Hermione replied, trying not to wince as Lady Longbottom tightened her grip before letting her go. Hermione restrained her urge to rub her hand or check for bruises.

Penelope next gestured at the beautiful blonde. 

“This is Fleur Delacour, Senior Advisor to His Majesty King Ragnok, the President of Gringotts.”

“Granger? I thought you were Smith?” Fleur asked, her tone slightly sharp, her gaze sweeping up and down Hermione. 

Hermione noted that her pronunciation had vastly improved since the last time she had heard Fleur speak.

She met Fleur’s gaze head on. 

“Smith is my mother’s maiden name. My full name is Hermione Jean Granger, H.J.G.. I chose to go be a pen name because I was having trouble getting published with a feminine first name. The academic world can be—” Hermione tried to think of a polite way to say misogynist, “old fashioned. I found it easier to get published once I stopped using my own name. I used Smith for the anonymity.” Hermione did not mention that the real reason she used Smith was to avoid blood-prejudice, as there were a number of Wizarding families with the surname Smith.

Fleur seemed satisfied with that explanation and nodded as she reached to shake Hermione’s hand.

Ron did not seem to share Fleur’s satisfaction with the explanation. His stormy expression had turned to deep skepticism. 

He turned to Penelope. 

“Are you sure she is H.J.G. Smith? How are you sure she’s not just faking it?”

Hermione flushed with anger and embarrassment. Her eyes were drawn to Potter who was frowning deeply at Ron. 

It was amazing that even after 10 years Ron Weasley could still get under Hermione’s skin in two sentences or less. He had been one of her primary bullies at Hogwarts, especially her first two years. She realized now as an adult, that she had been perhaps too over eager to share her love of learning, and children could be exceptionally cruel. The bullying had eased off after she was petrified, but she was never sure if the change was attributable to a change in attitude from him, or because she had gotten better at not calling attention to herself and keeping her head and hand down in class. 

Penelope was also blushing, obviously offended on behalf of Hermione, and at the suggestion that the assistant to the Minister would make such a mistake. 

“Obviously no introduction is needed here,” Penelope huffed. “But yes Ron, I’m positive. We knew H.J.G. Smith was not the real name of the scholar when we reached out. We tracked the letters to a post office owl box. The Auror assigned to observe reported that the owl went directly to Ms. Granger.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened and her eyebrows went up. The lengths that the Ministry had gone to contact her was rather intrusive, but spoke to a high level of concern regarding whatever project she had been recruited for.

Ron did not look satisfied with that answer either and opened his mouth again, probably to say so, when Hermione interrupted him.

She sighed and removed her wand from where it was stored in her hair. 

“I can put this to rest easily. I swear on my magic that I, Hermione Jean Granger, am the author and researcher known as H.J.G. Smith. Finite.” 

She then used her wand to move close the door behind Ron rather sharply. 

“Would you prefer a blood oath? Veritaserum?”

Ron still looked skeptical as he took a seat as far away from her as possible. He at least had the presence of mind to look a little embarrassed at his actions and would not meet her gaze as she glared at him. 

“I’m sorry about that, about him,” said Potter, still staring daggers at Ron. He looked back towards Hermione, meeting her eyes again, his expression softening.

Penelope cleared her throat delicately. 

“This is His Grace Harry Potter, Duke of Llŷr and Director of the DMLE.”

Potter extended his hand to Hermione. She noticed, distractedly, that he had nice hands. His fingers were long, but not delicate, he had the callused hands of a man who worked.

“That’s fine Director—Your Grace,” Hermione said, extending her own hand. She felt herself blush and desperately wished she was better at keeping her cool.

The first thing Hermione noticed was the warm metal of the two signet rings he was wearing. She recognized the Potter Crest on one ring, but the other had markings she didn’t recognize. The next thing that registered was a warm spark. The spark jumped from his palm to hers. It made its way up her arm, leaving a pins and needles feeling in its wake. It settled under her breast bone where she felt the electric feeling stretch like a cat before becoming a gentle pulse in her chest.

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and she saw Potter’s face reflected a similar emotion. It took a second before they realized they had been holding hands slightly longer than protocol would call for.

“Oh—uhm—Please, call me Harry, Miss Granger” Harry said, shaking his head slightly, a curious look forming in his eyes.

Hermione withdrew her hand slowly from Harry’s, their fingertips brushing gently. 

“Hermione, please.”

Penelope was eyeing both of them when Hermione returned her attention to the other woman.

“This is Saul Croaker, Director of the DoM,” said Penelope, continuing the introductions.

Director Croaker shook Hermione’s hand brusquely. 

“Miss Granger, pleasure is all mine. I was impressed with what I heard about your work with the Sorbonne.”

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from asking why, if he was so impressed, had he never hired her the dozen times she had applied for open positions in his department. Instead she thanked him and tried to smile.

“And finally this is Lord Nott, Baron of Erec. You might remember him from Hogwarts, he was your year. He’s now the Head of the Spell Damage Unit in St. Mungo’s.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, “Lord Nott and I were two of five students in Headmaster Dumbledore’s Alchemy class.”

Truth be told, had Hermione not shared that small class with Nott, she would have been hard pressed to remember him. He had always been quiet and kept towards the shadows in Hogwarts. While he had not tormented her like some of his fellow Slytherins had, he had never stopped them either.

Nott’s hand was surprisingly gentle, his expression calculating. 

“I’m happy to see you Miss Granger, it’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has,” replied Hermione.

“Please everyone, have a seat,” said Penelope as she started putting her privacy charms back up.

Harry pulled out Lady Longbottom’s chair and Headmaster Dumbledore did the same for Hermione. Nott got Fleur’s chair as Ron rolled his eyes at the display of chivalry. The men then sat, with Harry sitting directly across from Hermione.

Silence reigned for a moment before Hermione decided to take control of the situation. There had been a time in her life where she would have looked to the Headmaster, or Lady Longbottom, or literally anyone else to take charge, but her years leading research teams at the Sorbonne had begun to break her of that habit. She had been working to dismantle the learned timidity she had been forced to developed to survive at Hogwarts.

“I have questions about the discovery of the object.” She stated, reaching for her notebook and pen.

Director Croaker cleared his throat. 

“I can answer those. The item was discovered a week ago. The Department of Mysteries is undergoing renovations. We are expanding our research department and need more space. Some of the experiments we conduct are very sensitive to ambient magic. So instead of adding expansion charms we needed to actually physically make more room. Our plan is to add another level under the current level 10.”

Hermione nodded, adding notes. 

“So the object was found in the course of this expansion?”

“Yes,” said Director Croaker. “The construction workers came across a wooden trunk that was barely being held together with a stasis charm. We initially thought nothing of it. We expected to come across artifacts and had come across other buried items earlier in the project. The construction workers gave the trunk to our researchers per the established protocol.”

Hermione made more notes to research the history of the DoM. She knew that The Department of Mysteries predated the Ministry itself. The Ministry had been founded in 1701, and the DoM had already been around for at least a hundred years at that point. The Ministry had been built on top of the deep underground offices of the DoM.

Director Croaker continued on. 

“Two days after the object was discovered one of my research teams specializing in artifacts attempted to analyze it. There was a powerful stasis charm on the trunk and it was difficult to break. They did break it though and once it broke the trunk fell to pieces. Inside was the cube and a scroll. The scroll was also close to falling apart, but is still legible in parts. It’s written in Old English. You can find a translation in the file you received.” 

“Can you give me a brief summary of the contents?” Hermione asked. She flipped to the page in question in the file and made a note to check the translation herself.

Director Croaker nodded, “it looks to be an epic poem. From the legible portions it pertains to the Wizard’s Council, the precursor to the Ministry of Magic.”

Hermione remembered only a little about the Wizard’s Council from History of Magic class. It was a body that had developed policy, ratified laws, and generally governed Wizarding Britain. It was a direct descendant of Arthur’s Roundtable of Knights. She recalled that the last head of the Council had dissolved it because of a perceived loss of legitimacy. 

“Unfortunately large portions of the text are missing. There is a character who is the head of the Wizard’s Council. He is referred to interchangeably as ‘Pendragon’ and the ‘High King,’” said Director Croaker. “From context, those titles do not refer to King Arthur. It spoke of Arthur not as long dead, but only as a few generations removed.”

Hermione jotted the information down in her notebook. 

“Is there an estimate on the age of the poem? Or the age of anything found?”

Director Croaker frowned, looking down at the table. 

“The closest we could date the trunk and the scroll was sometime between the 7th and 9th century. The DoM doesn’t normally deal with ancient artifacts, so we didn’t have any experts who could provide a more accurate estimate. We were unable to date the cube in the trunk.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair, stunned. It was exceptionally rare to come across objects of that age that were not Goblin-made metalwork. 

“I can perform a more accurate age estimate. I would need to make sure that it doesn’t conflict with any of the charms or enchantments on the trunk or scroll, but I have a spell that can date objects to a 10 year period. And perhaps I can see if anything in the construction of the trunk, or the language  used in the poem might help narrow that window.” 

“Good, that should help,” said Director Croaker. “The poem spoke of the High King of the Wizard’s Council who thwarted the dark ambitions of a faction of the Wizengamot, and was rewarded by Magic with a ‘True Crown.’” 

Hermione frowned a little. True Crown and High King seemed to be strange translations. She had read some Arthurian myths that had given Arthur the title of High King but she had never heard the head of the Wizard’s Council referred to the High King. True Crown was strange because as far as Hermione recalled, there were no artifacts or items of power that accompanied the position of the head of the Council.

“We only have a vague outline of the plot of the poem, as most of the details were lost because of the deterioration of the scroll. The poem concludes by saying that Magic willed the first High King and would will the next one. The poem says that the True Crown would come to the ‘worthiest’ among us.”

“What happened after the trunk was found?” Hermione asked.

“Well, at first nothing,” said Director Croaker. “The trunk was discovered and the stasis charm was broken so we could catalogue the contents. Then when we determined that there was no time sensitive or dangerous about the scroll or the cube, it was set aside. At the time all the researchers were occupied with other projects, and as I said, we don’t really specialize in ancient artifacts. We had put in a word with ut Gringotts’s contact to see if they had a historian available to take a look, but we determined that it wasn’t urgent. Nothing happened until two days ago when the Wizengamot attempted to vote in a new law.” 

The Director glanced at Headmaster Dumbledore who nodded. 

“Yes, two days ago we met for our April session as scheduled. There were a few routine matters on the floor for a vote. The first law up for vote was a new piece of legislation that regulated the husbandry of thestrals.”

Headmaster Dumbledore peered at Hermione and asked, “do you know the process for getting new laws passed and ratified?”

“The Ministry or a member of the Wizengamot have the power to propose new legislation. If there is enough support, The Wizengamot then debates the law on the floor and then it goes up for a vote. If the vote passes by the appropriate margin, it is sent to the Minister who ratifies the law,” said Hermione. Her rote response sounded a bit like she had recited it right from a basic government textbook. Which was probably the case.

“Yes,” said Headmaster Dumbledore. “That is how it works procedurally. But magically it is more complicated.”

Hermione tilted her head, intrigued. She had never heard about the magical aspects of the Wizengamot. Politics and law had never really interested her, so admittedly she had only learned about the basics of the working of magical government.

“When a law is voted on, the result is recorded in the Ledger of the Kingdom. The current Ledger is over three hundred years old. No member of the Wizengamot writes in the Ledger. The result of each vote appears in the Ledger by will of Magic.”

“Where did the Ledger come from?” Inquired Hermione.

Headmaster Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him. 

“While there has been research done into the origins of the Ledger, it still remains largely a mystery. The previous Ledger fell apart when the Wizard’s Council was dissolved, but a replacement immediately appeared in its wake.”

Hermione’s mouth formed a small moue of annoyance. How could she have never even  _ heard  _ about such a fascinating magical artifact? She gestured for Headmaster Dumbledore to continue

“Every vote is recorded, regardless of the outcome. The only time a vote will not be recorded is if one of the voting members are not voting with their pure will.”

Hermione underlined something in her notebook and then looked up at Headmaster Dumbledore. “Pure will? What does that mean?”

“It means that the member must cast the vote of their own free will, as in their vote cannot be compelled magically.” 

“So,” Hermione said, “if, for example, a member was under the Imperius curse to vote a certain way, what would happen?”

“The vote would not be recorded in the Ledger. The same would result if a member was potioned, charmed, or enchanted. But only if their vote was a result of that potion, charm or enchantment. If they were under the Imperius curse with instructions to buy bread after the vote, then the vote would be recorded as usual.” 

“Huh,” said Hermione. “That is a meticulously applied and powerful enchantment on the Ledger. Magic that recognizes the intent of other spells and potions is a high magical art. To cast such an enchantment would demand precise control and lots of power. Is there a procedure that is followed if the Ledger doesn’t record a vote?”

Headmaster Dumbledore nodded. 

“It is very powerful and extraordinarily skillful but of magic. There is a procedure in place. If the Ledger does not record a vote, then the Wizengamot Chamber is automatically locked and all members are tested for charm, potion, enchantment, and curse.”

“It is quite a boring and length process,” said Lady Longbottom. “It is one of the reasons I always bring something to do with me when I am forced to vote on whatever nonsense those gormless gits are calling legislation.”

“So what does this have to do with the artifact that was discovered?” Asked Hermione, biting her lip to try to stop a smile.

“Well,” said Headmaster Dumbledore. “The members of the Wizengamot voted to approve the new thestral husbandry law. However, the Ledger did not record the vote. The standard procedure was followed, but no members were found to have been magically compelled. Everyone was tested for a second, and then a third, time. When nothing was found we attempted a vote on the same matter with the same result. We then attempted a different vote, to renew the licensing standards for apparition. We had previously renewed this law a dozen times with no issue. However again, nothing was recorded. We adjourned for the day, and I contacted Director Croaker directly to see if he had any idea what was going on.”

Director Croaker took up where Headmaster Dumbledore left off. 

“Yes, at the same time each vote was happening, the cube started...responding. When the Wizengamot attempted its first vote the cube began rattling so hard that the notification and protection wards on it broke. That notified myself and the Containment Unit of the Unspeakables. The cube had stopped moving by the time the Containment Unit arrived, so they begun their investigation in to what had set off the wards. They were still investigating in the room that the cube was being held after four hours, which is about when the second vote happened. We then saw that it was the artifact—the glass cube—that was reacting. When they voted for the second time the cube began violently shaking and producing enormous amounts of heat. The same thing happened during the third vote.”

Hermione was writing in her notebook furiously. “Only heat? Did it throw off anything visible? Did it injure anyone?”

“Not at that time,” responded Director Croaker. “However, when Albus came to see me, we put two and two together and gathered that they might be linked. So our next step was to try to open the glass cube. We began by attempting to magically open it. It seemed obvious that whatever was in the cube was causing the issues.”

Hermione paused in her note taking and looked at Director Croaker. 

“Why did you try to open it immediately?”

Director Croaker glanced at Headmaster Dumbledore who looked at Hermione, his eyes grave.

“There is a bill coming up for renewal,” Headmaster Dumbledore’s fingers tightened around each other, knuckles going white. “It empowers the continuation of the Ministry for another hundred years. With that, it ensures that all the regulation that the Ministry sets forth, the rules that each department makes to ensure laws are adhered to, are valid. The authorization for the Ministry to develop regulation is in this bill. For the bill to lapse would mean that payroll for the Ministry could not go through, it would mean that Aurors would have no power to arrest anyone, it would mean that our currency would lose its value. All of those are things not governed by a law passed by the Wizengamot, rather by a regulation made by a department of the Ministry.”

“How soon will it lapse?” Hermione asked.

“It technically has already lapsed,” said Headmaster Dumbledore. “We were meant to vote on it two days ago, and it was meant to expire yesterday. However we were able to pass a continuing resolution through with minutes to spare before it officially lapsed. The only reason we are not in a crisis right now is because continuing resolutions do not need to be recorded in the Ledger to be valid.”

“What Albus here is failing to say,” interrupted Lady Longbottom, “is that this solution is very temporary. Current Wizengamot procedural law only allows for three continuing resolutions before renewal is required. Each continuing resolution lasts 30 days. So we only have 90 days, 88 days now, before the government falls.”

Hermione was very confused. She had never though who or what gave magical governments the right to govern. 

“I’m sorry, I think I’m fundamentally missing something. In the Muggle world most governments operate through a collective agreement that the government is valid. When it loses validity, people overthrow the government. The government may resist overthrow through violence or other means, but it is people making all the decisions. Is that ...not the case in the Magical world?”

Harry leaned forward slightly in his seat and placing a hand on the table. His small action got the attention of the entire room, Hermione included. 

“No. Magical governments do not govern by the will of the people, they govern by the will of Magic. Often the two are deeply connected. Magic would not support a government if all, or even most, of the Magical people in a community found it abhorrent.”

Hermione frowned, tapping her pen on her notebook, thinking. 

“You’re telling me that Magical governments operate through a sort of ...divine right? Granted by Magic? Like the ancient Muggle Chinese belief that when a dynasty lost favor with the Gods it would end? Or that European rulers governed by the will of God?”

Harry nodded once. 

“Yes, that is the basic idea.”

Hermione had thousands of new questions. How explicit was Magic about its will? Was Magic sentient? Could Magic communicate? Was this a religious belief? Were there competing religious beliefs? She could not believe she never had thought much about religion in the Magical world. Hermione had to physically bite her tongue to restrain herself. She would save her questions for later. Maybe she could ask Professor Dumbledore for a reading list about it. 

“So what you are telling me,” Hermione said, forging ahead with the issue at hand, “is if the bill authorizing the continuation of the Ministry is not renewed in the next three months, there is no way for the Ministry to continue to operate.”

“No,” said Headmaster Dumbledore. “Not even if the people willed it. But the people would not will it if this came out. You must understand Miss Granger, most people raised in the Magical world place a great deal of faith, a spiritual type of faith, in Magic. We place our belief in Magic to keep us, to protect us, and to guide us. If the public were to discover that the Ledger was no longer accepting new laws and that the Ministry had fallen, they would never support its continuance. They would call for a new government, because they would believe, rightly it seems, that Magic had deemed the current rulers unworthy.”

Hermione pursed her lips but said nothing. She had so many other questions, but it was clearly not the time.

“Once Albus came to me, we knew it was of the utmost importance to discover what was going on with the artifact, especially in light of the rough translation one of the Unspeakables was able to make of the scroll. So we first tried to open it magically because I didn’t want any of my people touching it with their bare hands.” Director Croaker paused for a moment. He conjured a glass and filled it with water with two flicks of his wand. “The cube resisted all the spells we threw at it. In fact, it looked like it absorbed them—.”

Hermione was at the edge of her seat, her leg was bouncing, trying to contain her excitement about such a unique magical object. She couldn’t help herself, she interrupted Director Croaker. 

“What do you mean absorbed? How could you tell? Was there a visible reaction?” Her tone might have been a touch too eager for the serious tone of the conversation.

She caught Headmaster Dumbledore smiling slightly at her antics out of the corner of her eye. She probably reminded him of the girl she had been at 11, all enthusiasm, hand-waving-in-the-air curiosity. At least she had remained in her seat.

“We could tell the spells were being absorbed because we could test the strength of the protective ward around the box. Once we saw that the spells aimed at opening it were not ricocheting, we tested the strength of the ward again and saw that it had increased. The protective ward was taking the power of the spells and using it to fuel the ward further. There was no visible reaction, we only could tell through testing.”

Hermione had not written so much so fast since her last lecture class at Hogwarts. She felt her hand beginning to cramp slightly.

“When we knew that our spells were only fueling the ward we tried more physical means to open it. One of my Unspeakables tried to open it with a hammer. There was a massive explosion. He, and two other researchers working close by, were thrown across the room and set on fire.”

Hermione’s eyes were round as she looked up from her notebook to meet Director Croaker’s steady gaze.

Director Croaker continued. 

“The flames on the other two researchers were easily extinguished with an Aguamenti , but the fire on the Unspeakable who had attempted to break the glass resisted all out efforts to put it out. The Emergency Response Unit had to cast a flame freezing charm to prevent further burn damage to the poor man. He was moved to St. Mungo’s for treatment. The other injured researchers were taken there as well. However, the broken bones they got being thrown across the room refused all efforts to heal them magically.”

Hermione looked up from her notebook to Nott. 

“Is the Unspeakable still on fire?” 

Nott nodded. 

“Yes. He is still under the flame freezing charm, so he is no longer being injured by the fire, but we are unable to fully heal his injuries until the fire is put out. The only thing we can do right now is to keep him comfortable.”

Hermione swallowed back her nausea. That poor man was still being tortured. She had never heard of fire doing that before. Even Fiendfyre eventually went out.

“What about the condition of the other injured?” Hermione asked.

Nott frowned, again running his palms down the lapels of his robes. It was obviously a self-soothing mechanism. 

“We are still unable to heal any of their injuries with magic. We have resorted to Muggle means. We have used skin grafts to heal their burns and have splinted their broken bones where appropriate.”

Hermione made note of that, her eyebrows raised. She was impressed that Nott was so comfortable with Muggle medicine.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Hermione asked, looking around the table.

When no one said anything, Penelope spoke up. 

“The Minister obviously regards this as an emergency, but given the...precarious nature of the situation we thought it best that he keep his regular schedule, especially because he had nothing to contribute to the conversation.”

Hermione looked at Fleur, realizing that the blonde had not contributed anything during the conversation. 

“What are the interest of the Goblin king in this matter then?”

Fleur’s lips twitched upwards slightly. 

“Well, as you might imagine, if the galleon loses its value that would mean disaster for the Kingdom and Gringotts.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, tapping her notebook with her pen again. 

“Yes, I would imagine that would be less than ideal. But how did they become aware of the situation in the first place?”

One of Fleur’s eyebrows arched delicately. 

“The Chief Mage of the Goblins detected a—a shift—in power, for lack of a better phrase. They tracked it to the DoM. Additionally, several Goblin allies were present at the Wizengamot vote. Our allies are always eager to share information.”

Hermione was almost positive that allies meant spies and that their eagerness to share information came from bribes or blackmail. “And that information got you into this meeting?” Hermione asked with a small smile.

“That, and an offer of aid. The Goblins are happy with the current government. A new one might not be as... friendly,” Fleur offered up.

Hermione was deeply skeptical of this assertion, but put it to the back of her mind. It was not her concern if the Goblins had ulterior motives. What mattered is that they could have access to information that the Wizarding world was not privy to. Information that could help the injured, or open the odd box.

Hermione decided against asking why a still surly Ron was present or if he had any other information. She assumed he was present representing the Aurors. She figured that the Wizarding police force had an interest if the government suddenly collapsed.

“Okay,” said Hermione, “if that is all, I started a list of books I need. I’ll also need to get into the Ministry archive, specifically any historic records that date back to the Wizard’s Council. I need to go to St. Mungo’s to see the injured and do a magical examination of the spell residue. I’ll also need to access the trunk, the scroll, the cube, the location it was discovered, the Ledger. And I have a member—”

“Miss Granger,” Penelope interrupted her voice low and urgent, “we are happy to provide access to all you requests, however before that, do you have any thoughts on what this may be?”

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table in front of her, her nails beating out a precise pattern. 

“Some. But I have so little information that they may be wrong. The runes on the box are diverse in origin and age. Generally runes are only paired with those alike in origin. To do otherwise generally causes the runic magic to fall apart. But that obviously is not the case here. The fact that the fire won’t go out is something I haven’t encountered before, I’ve gone to locations where the opposite is true, where fire can’t be conjured. But never fire that wouldn’t go out is unique. The heat and fire given off by the box to protect itself indicate that the defense ward has an aspect of alchemy built in. That would mean that the warder either had great personal power, or harvested power. Perhaps the power is derived from whatever mechanism the ward is using to convert the spells fired at it in to fuel. By the way, that mechanism, using offensive spells to fuel defenses, is clever and deeply concerning, as it indicates that the box warder anticipated offensive action. It seems entirely possible that we might not be able to ever open the box. It is possible that there is a key or a phrase or a—”

Hermione felt a gentle touch against her hand and looked up sharply, breaking off the frantic stream of conscious that she had been pulled into. Harry had reached across the table and lightly rested his fingertips against the back of her hand to get her attention. She abruptly stopped drumming her fingers and met Harry’s eyes.

“Sorry,” Hermione said, blinking hard to clear her head, “I tend to ramble. Yes, I do have some ideas about how to open the box, but I need to do research before I attempt it.”

Harry withdrew his hand and Hermione felt unexpectedly bereft at the absence of the gentle pressure. The points where his fingers had rested remained warm.

Penelope sighed. 

“It was too much to hope for that you would have an instant answer. I will take the list of books you require and His Grace can take you down to the archive.”

Hermione nodded and ripped a page out of her notebook, handing it to Penelope.

Ron’s voice unexpectedly emerged, after having remained silent for almost the entire meeting. “She needs to take an oath on her magic not to reveal what’s going on. We all had to. She should have to as well.”

Hermione was prepared to be insulted at the suggestion, but to be honest with herself, Ron had a point. It would be poor operational security if the person most loosely connected to the project, with the least to lose, was the only one not forced to be bound by a secrecy oath. So she nodded and raised her wand for a second time.

“I, Hermione Jean Granger swear on my magic not to reveal what we discussed in this room regarding the trunk, the object, the scroll, or the Ledger unless given permission by one of the people present. Finite.” She felt the oath settle and put down her wand.

“Acceptable?” She asked, looking at Ron. He nodded, pushing his chair away from the table and heading to the door.

Penelope lowered her privacy charms and Ron, Headmaster Dumbledore, Lady Longbottom, and Nott made to leave the room.

Before Nott had left, he turned to Hermione. 

“When you need access to my patients just floo me. Penelope and Potter have my details.”

Hermione nodded and Nott followed Ron out of the room.

Lady Longbottom lingered for a moment, looking at Hermione searchingly before nodding to herself. 

“Miss Granger, the Longbottoms have one of the most extensive private libraries in Great Britain. You have full access as long as you need. I also have enough...pull with the old families to ensure that any Noble house will open its library doors to you.”

“Thank you very much Lady Longbottom,” said Hermione quietly. She was flabbergasted. Noble family libraries were generally very closely guarded. For Lady Longbottom to offer such a thing, the situation was dire indeed.

Headmaster Dumbledore was next to the door. He too turned to look back at Hermione. 

“Miss Granger, I hope you know I have the utmost faith in your abilities. I would be happy to help your endeavors in any way you need. Hogwarts library is of course open to you, as is my personal library. I will be researching Alchemy based wards in the meantime. I will let you know if I discover anything.” 

His colorful robes swept around him as he left, closing the door behind him, leaving Director Croaker, Fleur, Harry and Penelope.

Director Croaker focused on Hermione. 

“Technically Harry here is in charge of this little project. However, as it was my team initially involved and my department, you will be working in, I need to know more about your immediate plans and needs.”

Hermione flipped a few pages back in her notebook. 

“I’ve given Penelope my book list for now, but more things will come up. I know my contract allows for a team of three full-time researchers. I already have one, he is the best ancient artifacts scholar I’ve ever met, but I will need two more. Specifically, I need someone who has experience in curse breaking. The best candidate would have experience with artifacts of a similar era and the more rune heavy their work history, the better. I also need a historian who specializes in the history of the British Isles and maybe even Arthurian myth.”

Fleur stood to leave, gathering her bad and smoothing her skirt down. 

“I can get you a curse breaker, the best. They will be a Goblin. Is that a problem?”

Hermione shook her head and smiled slightly. 

“Of course not, my ancient artifacts scholar is a ghost. I’m open to working with all sorts.”

Penelope’s eyebrows shot up. 

“A ghost?”

Hermione glanced at her. 

“Yes, a ghost. He had an Advanced Mastery in ancient artifacts, worked on every continent, consulted for over a dozen governments, hundreds of private entities, and the Goblin Kingdom regularly.”

Hermione was positive Quince would be able to pull his own weight, but it seemed like his spectral status might be a stumbling block for others accepting him.

Harry huffed softly and shot a frown at Penelope. 

“A ghost is fine. I—we trust your judgment.”

Hermione nodded sharply and then glanced down at her watch. 

“Well then, it just about time to meet him. His name is Cranville Quincey and he should be down in the atrium by that terrible statue just about now.”

Fleur, still standing by the door spoke up. 

“I would be happy to show Mr. Quincey to this room. I am on my way down there anyway.”

“Thank you very much,” said Hermione. She looked at Penelope. “I would like to make my way immediately to the archives. Could you please give Quince—Mr. Quincey an overview of the information? I’ll lay out the pictures so he can see them and the reports as well.”

“Of course,” said Penelope, still obviously a little thrown at the developments. “I’ll floo your book request to the Ministry librarian and then wait here to brief Mr. Quincey.”

Director Croaker had managed to keep his expression neutral. 

“I will obtain the names of wizards and witches who achieved Masteries in History with a concentration on the British Isles. I can have a list of names for you in an hour.”

“That’s fine,” said Hermione. She stood and was slightly surprised, but pleased, to see that Harry stood when she did. “Harry, if you would escort me to the archive I would be much obliged.”

Hermione gathered her notebook and pen and put them back in her bag. She smoothed down the back of her robe and made her way to the door.

“My pleasure,” murmured Harry. He nodded a goodbye to Director Croaker and Penelope and opened the door for her. He guided her through it with a hand hovering over her lower back, so close she could feel the heat from his palm. The warmth made Hermione feel like she might catch fire and be happy to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gone too deep into lore here. If anything is unclear, please ask. I borrowed broadly from the American government system re: the difference between regulations and laws. It's very glossed over, but the tl;dr is that regulations are made by administrative bodies. Administrative bodies are created by laws. Administrative bodies have to operate within laws. If an administrative body creates a regulation, that regulation cannot contradict existing law. Administrative bodies can only make regulations that are authorized by law. For example if the FDA is empowered by laws passed by congress to ensure that new drugs are safe. So they can make regulations about how new drugs are safety tested. But they can't make regulations about how drug companies administer their parental leave policies, because that is outside the scope of their legislative mandate. If it is at all unclear, let me know. 
> 
> I'm choosing the make Harry a Duke which menas that the tag Lord Potter is technically inaccurate. Because Dukes are referred to as His/Your Grace. The leeway I'm taking with the rule about how to address nobility is that people generally don't call him just by his title (they don't call him Llŷr).
> 
> Speaking of which, all the Noble titles are the names of Knights of the Round Table. I really do not know much about the Aurthur myth, other than that I loved the movie with Clive Owen and Keira Knightley. But, I have put in a substantial amount of time with Wikipedia. Additionally, the information about the Wizard’s Council as a precursor to the Ministry is canon. I have significantly diverged from canon in the history of that organization, and will continue to do so.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry retrieve some files about the early days of the Ministry.

**AUGUST 4, 2008**

Harry and Hermione made their way to the lifts in silence. Hermione’s mind was going 1000 miles a minute as she tried to process the madness that had been that meeting. To go from tending a shop till to assisting with saving the government was not a transition she had anticipated making.

They made it to the lifts and Harry removed his hand from where it hovered over her lower back to press the call button. Hermione could feel the flush on her cheeks from the almost-contact. The place where his hand had almost-rested felt cold, and she almost had the urge to reach for his hand. That was very weird too. She had never felt such an immediate and intense attraction, such a pull, like a gravitational force towards another person before.

As they stepped into the lift, Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath. She was proud of how she ran that meeting, but after all that excitement all that was left was panic. A wave of dizziness hit her at the thought of what she had done. She had taken charge, ahead of a Duke of the Realm, ahead of the Director of the DoM, ahead of the Headmaster, the most learned wizard she knew! 

She focused on the lift buttons and flexed her hands a few times, trying to regain control of her emotions. She felt that she was starting to spiral and tried to distract herself by reciting the runic alphabet in her hand. She could tell it wasn’t really helping as her field of vision narrowed, going black at the edges. This was the most inconvenient time to have a panic attack, but she felt it coming anyway.

She had dealt with anxiety and even panic attacks when she first started to supervise other researchers at the Sorbonne. Though she had been bossy and loud when she started Hogwarts, it had become so deeply ingrained to keep her head down by the time she graduated, it had been hard learning to speak up again. While she hadn't regressed to her Hogwarts-level of meekness, years of dealing with her mother and working a dead end job meant that leading a meeting with the most important people in the country about a situation that could end the government was too much to deal with.

“Hermione?” Harry’s concerned voice sounded like it was coming from far away, but Hermione turned towards it and tried to focus on him.

“Yes?” she said, her voice catching. She cleared her throat and took another deep breath. “Sorry, that was just—just a lot. I need a minute.”

She was sure she must seem nuts to him. She leaned slightly against the closest wall of the lift as she felt more than saw Harry reach across her and press a button on the console. 

Hermione closed her eyes and timed her breath, trying to remember the pattern she had learned from a book on meditation. 4 count in, hold for 7, out for 8. She managed a few rounds before feeling more human. 

No longer distracted by her almost anxiety attack, she realized the lift was no longer moving, and opened her eyes. She was facing the panel of buttons and saw that he had flicked the emergency stop switch. Hermione turned towards Harry, offering him a small smile, “thank you. I appreciate that.”

She tried to get a hold of herself. Yes, it was a kind thing for him to do, but Hermione was sure he would have done it for anyone. He was polite, well mannered, and a Noble Lord. Of course he would be considerate of her. That’s what his almost-touch had been too. She just needed to keep reminding herself that he was just displaying his courtly and chivalrous manner, and that he probably did the same thing with every woman he interacted with, that she was no one special. That last part made her heart feel a little hollow, but she needed to calm down before she did something truly foolish.

Harry looked at her, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Don’t worry about it, I can’t imagine that was what you expected when you woke up this morning.”

Harry was one of those people that gave you his full attention when he spoke to you, Hermione realized. It was a heady thing to be the center of his full focus. It made her feel terrified and elated at the same time.

Hermione’s laugh was a short sharp bark. “No, not at all.” She put a hand to her forehead and rubbed between her brows. She took one last deep breath and smiled at Harry. “You can start the lift again.”

Harry reached across her again and released the emergency brake. The lift made its way back up to the first floor. Harry noticed Hermione looking at the descending numbers and said “the Ministry Archives are on Floor 1, along with the Minister’s Office.”

Hermione nodded absently and tucked a curl that had escaped her bun behind her ear.

A minute passed in silence before she heard Harry shift.

“So, you and Weasley have a history?”

Hermione snorted delicately. “I suppose you could say that. Ron and I were in the same year in Gryffindor. We were not close. I was not popular as a child. I suppose I was... grating to other students. I was keen to prove myself, so that led to some issues containing my behavior, especially in lessons. I was a real swot. It didn’t earn me any points with my classmates. I suppose Ron was just always faster to point out when I was irritating him. Children can be cruel”

“He bullied you.” Harry said flatly, the corners of his mouth pulling down. 

“He was a bit of a bully, as a child, yes. But really, by the end of our time in school we had nothing to do with each other, so it could be he grew up some. And he wasn’t the worst, after all little girls can be vicious. It was a long time ago.”

Harry was still frowning as the lift reached the first floor and they stepped out. 

Hermione reached out and put her hand on his forearm. She felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric and felt his muscles tense slightly beneath her touch. His eyes met hers and she felt something shift under her breastbone. It felt like electricity.

Her eyebrows shot up, surprised by her own actions. She hadn’t meant to actually touch him, she had only wanted to get his attention. Her plan had only been to clear her throat or make a gesture in his direction, not to actually touch him. But somehow her body didn’t listen to her, and here she was, touching him. She filed away her strange reactions to Harry as something to consider later. She would have to get them under control if she had any hope of acting like a normal human in front of him.

 _He was just being polite, I’m no one special, he’s Ron’s boss and the head of this project, that's why he was asking, this is purely professional, calm down, I'm no one special_ Hermione internally berated herself.

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it was a long time ago,” Hermione said quietly. She removed her hand from his arm. She shoved her hand in her robe pocket in an attempt to restrain herself from future inappropriate actions.

Harry nodded and gestured her to the right. “I really enjoyed your most recent article about the development of items that have elemental properties. I know your focus is on the theoretical side, but I saw that Weasley Wizard Wheezes had recently come out with a line of hats that repelled water and acts like an umbrella. It looks like they put your theory into good practical use.”

Hermione couldn’t help the light flush that she felt on her cheeks. She was normally better at taking praise, but for some reason she felt like she was glowing at the compliment.

“Yes!” Hermione said, smiling up at Harry. “The Weasley twins are brilliant. I partner with them sometimes, if my theoretical work ever has an interesting and profitable practical application. I’ve worked with them on and off since Hogwarts. We hold a couple of joint patents, and sometimes they contact me when they’re having trouble with spell development or the runes they use in their products. I helped them with the alchemy and spell development aspects of the hat.”

“The intelligence that we had about H.J.G. Smith didn’t say anything about involvement with the twins. Though the intelligence also didn’t have anything concrete about your real identity either until yesterday.” 

Hermione felt like she might walk into a wall because she was too busy meeting his eyes and paying attention to him to do anything else at the same time.

“Why was I of such an interest to the DMLE?” Hermione asked. If she was honest, despite the flustered state that Harry seemed to be leaving her in, she was still very concerned about the level of surveillance that the Ministry had engaged in. And as head of the DMLE, Harry would be in the best position to answer her questions.

“A number of reasons,” Harry’s right hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it slightly, and she saw the artificial light of the hallway flash off of the metal of his signet rings. “Your work, though theoretical, is exceptionally advanced. Yes, the twins used your most recent theoretical observation for an umbrella replacement, but if fire spells were embedded in everyday objects, they could pose a danger to wizards and Muggles alike. Your work about elemental magic in rune wards was of particular worry to the Auror Department. If the more unsavory elements of our society began warding their goods or their person with more dangerous elemental wards, it would impact the safety of the Aurors. Especially because very few Aurors have any practical know-how about elemental magic. It’s hard to find people with the power and the academic training to cast and counteract elemental magic. And it’s even harder to lure them into the Auror service, or into the Ministry.”

Hermione frowned and rubbed between her eyebrows again. “Oh. I had thought a little about the practical applications, but I’ll admit, that never even crossed my mind. I tend to get hyper focused on theory to the detriment perhaps of practical considerations.”

Harry stopped in front of a nondescript door. He took out his wand, touched it to his forehead and then to the doorknob. The door swung open. Inside was metal storage shelves filled with boxes upon boxes, going all the way to the ceiling. It looked like a haphazard version of the evidence rooms she saw in the American police procedural shows her dad used to love.

Harry gestured her in ahead of him. “This is the Ministry’s Archive room. It’s keyed to magical signature and only the heads of Departments, the Archivist and the Minister can enter. It’s organized by date, with the more modern documents towards the front.”

Hermione resisted the urge to scream, settling on a sigh. “So what you’re telling me is that I have a long walk to the section I need.”

“Yes,” Harry looked down at her, offering a sympathetic smile. “It will be quite a walk. We could try summoning the relevant boxes?”

Hermione paused for a second, running her finger across her lips, thinking. She noticed that Harry’s eyes followed the movement. “I’m not sure what boxes I’ll need, and I’m not confident that the summoning wouldn’t damage the documents. Is there no other document retrieval mechanism?”

Harry looked away from her and gave a slight grimace. “Unfortunately, the only other method of retrieval requires you to be close to the boxes you want. I agree about summoning, but I wanted to offer just in case.”

Hermione nodded and looked down the row of shelving units. “Well, thank you for all your help, I really appreciate it.”

Harry looked at her, a small smile on his lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I have some time. I also considered a Mastery in History at one point in time, so searching these documents will be a treat for me too.”

She felt flustered, this was more time than she anticipated having to spend alone with him. “Oh, okay, but please don’t feel obligated.”

Harry’s smile became a full one, and his eyes shone. “I don’t feel obligated it would be my pleasure.”

Hermione nodded, looked down, and wished with her whole heart that the blush she felt staining her cheeks was not as noticeable as it felt. Her own behavior was still baffling her. She was not some simpering school girl, but something about Harry made her flustered and it felt like butterflies had taken up permanent residence in her stomach.

They took a few steps down the row and Harry focused on her again. “So tell me more about your time in Hogwarts, I’ll admit to being a little envious. My dad, Sirius Black, regaled me with tales of his and my father’s adventures there, so I’m always eager for more stories about it.”

Hermione’s grin tilted her lips up at the corners. “Well, I’ve heard a little about Lord Black and your Father’s reputations. Filch, the caretaker, still complains about their antics, and to the Weasley twins they were the stuff of legends. My time at Hogwarts was not as...colorful as the stories you’ve heard. I was a Gryffindor, but I spent most of my time in the library or studying at other places around the castle. I did spend a good deal of time with the house-elves in the kitchens after the twins showed me where it was. Like I said, I was a bit of a know-it-all, which got me into trouble with some of my peers. But I learned to keep my head down, so it got better once I got past third year or so. I once almost blew up Professor Snape? That’s the most exciting my time at Hogwarts got. I was also petrified by a Basilisk, but I really don’t remember it very well, and that was less exciting and more terrifying.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “How on earth did they let a basilisk into Hogwarts?”

“Well, from what Headmaster Dumbledore told me afterwards, it was less that they let the basilisk in, and more that it had been there for about a thousand years. A girl in the year below me somehow opened the Chamber of Secrets and let it loose. She apparently was possessed by some artifact. That was actually what got me interested in artifacts to begin with. Everyone was so secretive about what exactly the artifact was and how it had possessed her. So I started to do some independent research. I never really discovered what it was, but I found a new passion.”

Hermione specifically did not mention that it was Ginny Weasley who was possessed. She felt bad for the girl, even if Ginny had never apologized or done anything other than ignore her afterwards.

She couldn’t read Harry’s expression, but Hermione thought it might fall somewhere between angry and thoughtful. Silence fell between them. It felt like they had been walking for a very long time.

Harry had schooled his features back into polite interest when he spoke up again. “I have to ask, why were you working at a junkshop? Did you ever consider a job with the Ministry?”

Hermione felt her smile turn bitter. He had hit a sore spot, but she reminded herself that it wasn’t his fault. “I came back a few years ago to help take care of my father who was ill. I tried to find a research position. I looked everywhere. I applied to the ministry more times than I can count. But I wasn’t a desirable applicant. I never made...connections at Hogwarts. I came out with some friendly acquaintances, but that was about it. So I had no network to speak of, and my blood-status and my gender didn’t help matters any either.”

Harry looked mad by the end of her story. She met his gaze, puzzled, and he let out a huff. “Sorry, it’s just, you’re brilliant. And to hear that the place I work, the place I have a duty to defend, the place that my father represents, was so...foolish, to let you go. It’s frustrating.”

Hermione shrugged, her cheeks warm again at the praise. “My old position wasn’t bad. I had a lot of interesting objects to research. I learned a lot. Plus, that’s where I met Quince, and he’s been wonderful.”

She let the silence sit between them for a moment as they continued down what felt like an endless row of boxes.

“So, since you interrogated me, it’s only fair I get to ask you some questions now,” Hermione said, aiming for playful, but coming off slightly too unsure of herself.

Harry smiled at her again. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“So why did you come back?” Hermione asked. “I saw the Witch Weekly articles about what a hotshot Auror you were in the States.”

Harry grinned ruefully at her. “I hope you know that not all of that nonsense was true. I never fought a dragon bare handed.”

Hermione gave him an impish smile. “No? But there were even pictures of that published in the Prophet.”

Harry gave a short sigh and rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, what the pictures didn’t show is the team of dragon handlers that joined me seconds later. Or the fact that afterwards I needed to sleep for 3 days because of magical exhaustion.”

“Well, it still looked very impressive in the photos,” said Hermione, smiling warmly.

Harry laughed, sounding a little embarrassed, and ran his hand through his hair, managing to bring more mess to an already disordered hairstyle. “Thank you. To tell you the truth, I left America because I had to come back. I had to do my duty and fully claim my title. I let my dad have regency while I was away, but I realized that it was putting a strain on him. He’s not old by any means, but holding one title and regency over another is a significant amount of work. Also, it was just time to come back. I’d been away most of my life, but I always felt a pull. When I was away my magic was... restless, for lack of a better word. Since coming back, I've felt much more settled, much more calm.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “There is something about being home. When I was away I thought I didn’t miss it. And even sometimes here I’m desperate to leave. But the first time I came back, I felt like I would be tearing myself apart to go again.”

Hermione felt a pull from under her breastbone when Harry smiled brightly down at her again, meeting her eyes fully. 

“Exactly,” he said. His bright smile shifted more thoughtful. “I can’t say it’s been easy being back. The press here is brutal. And everyone has built a lot of expectations around who I’m supposed to be. I’m the first person to claim the Llŷr title in a hundred years. My father didn’t have time before he was killed, and my grandfather thought it would be a political liability, as the trend was away from noble titles in his time. But I had to, in order to take advantage of the silly little carve outs in the law that nobility has.”

Hermione glanced at the surrounding boxes. They were still in the 1800’s, so had some distance to cover until they reached the area they were looking for. 

“I admit, today is making me wish I had studied Magical Law. What sort of carve outs exist for nobility?” She said.

Harry bit his lip thoughtfully. “There are a lot of little things, like exemptions to various regulations, but the biggest it that the Llŷr title has three seats in the Wizengamot, most Dukedoms do. Earls have two, and every other noble title just has one. Anyone above the rank of Baron can only be arrested with the approval of ⅔ of the Wizengamot. Dukes can place anyone under their protection, which gives them the same protection for arrest. That’s why I initially had to claim my title at 10. The Ministry was trying to get me back to Britain. To incentivise my return, they put out a warrant for the arrest of my Uncle, Remus Lupin. They couldn’t arrest Sirius because he’s the Earl of Cador and they didn’t have the votes in the Wizengamot. But because Sirius was only an Earl, he couldn’t protect his husband from arrest. So at 13 I claimed my title, took Remus into my protection, and then immediately handed over regency to Sirius.”

“That’s a terrible thing to do to you and your family.” Hermione said, aghast that the Ministry had put a child in that sort of position.

Harry put his hands in his trouser pockets and shrugged. “It wasn’t pleasant. But it helped me learn the value of political power at a young age.”

Again they lapsed into silence and Hermione noted that the boxes they were walking past were finally labeled with years close to the ones she was looking for. The Ministry had begun in 1707, and the boxes they had just passed were from 1718.

“We’re getting close.” Hermione said.

“We’re close to the back wall, I don’t think there are any files here that date to the Wizard’s Council.” Harry replied, looking at the shelves of boxes as they passed them.

They reached the back wall and Hermione looked at the shelf closest to the wall. “I think you’re right. The files right up against the wall are from 1707. I wonder if there is somewhere the older files are stored?”

Harry hummed softly as he leaned down and looked at the lowest row of boxes. “I’m not sure. The DoM has an archive somewhere, and they might have some files that pre-date 1707. The DoM was around for centuries before the Ministry, so they would be the most likely candidate. Hogwarts might also have some related files. Hogwarts was founded in 909, which might be when the trunk and scroll were made. We should floo Albus and ask.”

Hermione’s smile was slightly teasing as she looked down at where Harry was crouched. “You’re on a first name basis with the Headmaster?”

“Yes, he was my transfiguration, alchemy and magical theory tutor.” Harry smiled up at her. “Did you know he used to brag about you?”

“He did?” said Hermione, shocked.

Harry’s grin grew. “Yes. When I would struggle, especially in alchemy, he would tell me about the unique way you had approached the material, and inevitably your approach would make more sense to me. You were like my second tutor in alchemy. Your essay about elemental interaction in basic fire and water spells saved my ass when I took the NEWT. He wouldn’t tell me who you were until after you graduated. He said you would do great things.”

Hermione’s heart felt like it was soaring, she looked down, a large smile stretched on her lips, “I’m not sure what to say. That was very sweet of him.”

Hermione cleared her throat gently and tried to refocus on the task at hand. “Well, we should get all the boxes from 1707, 1708, and 1709. Also 1710, just to be safe. I’m looking for information about the transition from Wizard’s Council to the Ministry. I had hoped that there might be some records here from the Wizard’s Council, but it looks like this archive only goes as far back as the Ministry itself. Can we relocate the boxes to the workroom I’ve been assigned?”

“Yes, we should be able to.” Harry drew out his wand and gave it a delicate flick. A floating cart emerged from the back wall. He then touched his wand to the shelf and then to the cart and said “All records from 1707 through 1710”

Boxes started to move themselves from the shelf to the cart. The cart expanded as it filled with boxes. Once about two dozen boxes were on the cart it zoomed down the row back towards the front door. Another cart emerged from the back wall and the same process repeated itself. This happened three more times.

Hermione watched the process, amazed. “That is a whole lot of boxes. Do you know if there is an internal organization system?”

“I’m not sure,” said Harry, storing his wand.

“Well it looks like I’m going to have a lot of material to sort through.” Hermione said, turning back towards the exit.

Harry grimaced a little. “Yes, hopefully Saul has found you a historian to help with that.”

Hermione and Harry began to make their way back to the door. She could not help but look at a few boxes of material as they passed. She hoped that she would get the opportunity to do at least a little more research in this archive. Who knew what was in the materials, some of the boxes looked like they hadn’t been touched in centuries.

“I have some sorting spells that should do the heavy lifting in finding useful sources, but I still suspect it will be a bit of work.

They walked in comfortable silence before Hermione thought of another question.

“Why…” she started, and then hesitated, but forged on. “Why didn’t you hire one of the other experts I suggested?”

Harry focused all of his attention on her, an overwhelming experience. “They didn’t have your same expertise. I’m sure they are professionals and would have worked their hardest. But the issue we’re facing is unique, and seemingly tailored to your research history. Had you refused again I was prepared to try to persuade you in person.”

“That seems rather extreme,” said Hermione, looking up at him puzzled.

“If I’m honest, it wasn’t just unique expertise.” Harry hadn’t looked away from her, and Hermione was finding it difficult to take full breaths. “It was also—I tried to write to one of the other experts you suggested, but when I put quill to parchment it felt...wrong. I don’t—I’m not exactly sure what it was, but I would swear I felt something dissuading me. I’m devout to Magic, I was raised that way, and something, my instincts, Magic, something, told me that we needed you to solve whatever this is.”

Hermione let out a slow breath and looked away from his intense gaze. “That’s—that’s a lot.” She paused, trying to form her next question. “What does it mean to be devout to Magic? I was raised in a Muggle home, and I admit I never did any research into Magical religion, or belief systems, which I realize now is a significant gap in my education. Is it devout in a similar way that Muggle religious people are devout? Do you pray to Magic? Are there rituals? Do you have special holidays? Are there offerings? Is there the equivalent of church or temple or mosque?”

Harry let out a soft laugh. “Those are a lot of questions. I’ll answer the best I can, but I’ll also get a few books from the Llŷr library on the topic if you’re still curious.” He took a deep breath and focused on the floor for a second before looking back at Hermione. “Magical belief systems are not the same as Muggle ones. There’s no real ‘organized’ religion in the Wizarding world. There are no priests or reverends or rabbis. There are no churches. There are holy sites. You lived in one for 7 years. Hogwarts is a holy site because of how much magic resides in the land after 1000 years of students learning and living there. There is a holy site here in the Ministry in the DoM. There are others across the world. They tend to be where many magical people have lived, or practiced, or spilled blood. There is a holy site where the majority of the Salem witches were executed. The oldest parts of Diagon Alley are holy as well. Magic done at holy sites tends to be more powerful. I’m sure you noticed that learning new spells at Hogwarts always came easier than learning new spells once you graduated.”

Hermione bit her lip to stop from interrupting him with more questions and nodded.

Harry continued on. 

“Those who are devout don’t worship in the same way that Muggles do. There’s not prayer in the same way. We show our devotion by using the gifts given to us by Magic to the fullest. Being devout is about honoring your potential and listening to your instincts. The way you would disrespect Magic would be ignoring your magic, by being lazy in your craft, or by destroying your soul or someone else’s. That’s not to say that the devout can’t be dark. There are plenty of dark spells, curses, rituals, and potions that kill people, maim people, and otherwise hurt others that the devout take part in. Killing someone doesn’t destroy the soul. There are ways to destroy the soul, but that is the worst sort of magic. 

“Your actions, furthering your education, conducting research, continuing to learn and grow, all show respect to Magic, even if you aren’t aware of it. I just acknowledge the pull of Magic and seek to honor all the gifts I have been given.

“There are holidays, you celebrated some of them at Hogwarts. Halloween, though it is traditionally called Samhain. Yule is also a holiday. The others you might have also heard of: Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lammas, and Mabon. There are different rituals on the holidays, but not many families still keep all of them, only the most traditional ones do. There is no real consequence for not keeping the high holidays. Magic doesn’t need to be recognized to continue to bless you. What matters is your own behavior.”

Hermione tried to take that in. They had reached the door to the hallway, and the conjured carts were waiting for them. Harry opened the door to the hall, drew his wand again, and tapped each cart. The carts then floated out the door towards the elevators.

Penelope was waiting on the other side of the Archive door. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that her alone time with Harry was over. She shook her head slightly to help clear that irrational thought.

“I was just coming to tell you your workshop is all set up and Mr. Quincey is waiting for you there. Director Croaker also has the list of names. Did you find what you were looking for?” Asked Penelope.

Hermione shook her head slightly. “Not really, the files only dated back to the inception of the Ministry. Do you know if older files might be stored somewhere else?”

Penelope thought for a second as she fell into step with Harry and Hermione. “The DoM might have older files, but they will be DoM related, not necessarily about the Wizard’s Council. I’ll ask the Archivist if they might know. But as you saw, our filing system isn’t great, so I wouldn’t hold out hope.”

Hermione sighed softly. “Okay, I’ll ask Director Croaker for access to the DoM archives. I, or better yet, hopefully the historian, can look there soon.”

* * *

By the time that the trio arrived at the room that Penelope had selected as the project’s workroom, all the carts had deposited their contents on a long table in the back of the room and Quince was hovering by another table that Hermione could see held the photos of the cube and the scroll.

Director Croaker was also waiting, watching Quince with a mildly bemused expression on his face. He turned to Hermione as she entered the room. “You didn’t tell me that your artifacts expert was THE Cranville Quincey.”

Hermione looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean by that?”

Croaker smiled slightly at her. “He was the head Unspeakable for a decade back in the 1880s. He revolutionized our research system and made notable advancements in various fields I’m forbidden by oath from talking about.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Quince?” Hermione asked, calling over to her friend.

Quince floated towards her. “I too was bound by an oath. I’m not sure if it is still in effect, but I was not eager to try. Who knows what the consequence of a ghost breaking a magical oath might be. I shudder to think.”

Harry stepped forward slightly. Hermione could see him restraining his impulse to offer his hand in greeting. “Good afternoon Mr. Quincey. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Harry Potter, the project leader and Director of the DMLE, I’ve heard great things about your work.”

Quince bowed slightly and shot a glance at Hermione, eyebrows raised. “Your Grace. I knew your great grandfather. And your grandfather. They were honorable men. I am happy that you’ve taken an interest in my Hermione, she is simply the most brilliant person I have ever met.”

Hermione blushed as Harry grinned at her and then focused on Quince. “Yes sir, I’m well aware. It’s an honor she agreed to work with m—with us.”

Hermione cleared her throat and turned back towards Director Croaker. “Penelope tells me you have a list of historians?”

Director Croaker nodded and handed her a piece of parchment. “There aren’t that many. It’s a specialization that has largely died out, given its lack of marketability.”

Hermione read down the five names on the list. The list had brief overviews of their CVs along with a list of specialization and their publications. Hermione immediately dismissed three of the candidates. They either had no relevant publications or their focus was on history that was well beyond the scope of the project at hand. One of the other Masters had some relevant publications, notably one on the Hogwarts Founders and another on the early life of the Ministry, but her primary focus was on more recent history, and it looked like the past decade of her career had been dedicated to collecting first hand stories of the War with Grindelwald. Not really useful, but she might be a good backup.

She recognized the last name on the list. He had achieved his Mastery only seven years ago, but all of his work was focused on Merlin, Arthur, and the Round Table. He had been published by reputable academic journals and it looked like his experience matched the needs of the project. He had even recently published a piece about the heyday of the Wizard’s Council.

Unfortunately, he was also one of the people she least wanted to interact with. But she gritted her teeth and took a deep breath. Needs must.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said, looking up at Director Croaker. “He has the best credentials. How soon can you get him in here?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed I've expanded the total number of chapters to expect. While I have the whole fic plotted, it is proving to move much more slowly than I anticipated. Which is good and bad. I'm having a lot of fun world building (sorry about the info dump in this chapter), but at this rate I won't earn that Explicit rating until chapter 16.
> 
> Posting might slow down some. I'm a student and classes are back in session, but I will try to stay relatively on schedule.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed, kudos'd and subscribed. I haven't written fanfic in 15 years, or really anything other than academic papers in that time, so this is a learning process for me. I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read what I write.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets her other team members and the beginning of progress are made on the artifact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is coming ahead of schedule because I had extra time over the long weekend and ignored my schoolwork. There may be another update this week, but that depends on other factors.
> 
> Thank you again for all the comments. I can't tell you how fun this is. I deeply appreciate every single person who leaves a comment/kudos/subscribe.

**AUGUST 4, 2008**

A few hours later Hermione surveyed the progress she had made. Her bulk sorting spells had filtered the files from the Archive by keyword. She had been able to eliminate about ¾ of the boxes.

It was just her and Quince left in the workroom. Penelope had left to track Malfoy down, and Director Croaker had gone back to his office to try to locate the DoM archives. Apparently one of his predecessors had hidden the entrance somewhere in the DoM Director’s office and failed to leave instructions on how to find it again.

Harry had lingered for a few minutes after Penelope and Croaker had left. He hadn’t said anything, and when Hermione had given him an inquisitive look he just gave a brief nod to both her and Quince and had left the workroom. When the door shut behind him she had felt a tug in her chest, like there was a tether between them that was drawn taut in his absence. She had rubbed her sternum absently and reminded herself that this was not the time for whatever bizarre thing her treacherous body was doing now.

Hermione had set up Quince with a bookstand that was spelled to turn the pages at a gesture from him, since he could not physically interact with books himself.

Quince looked up from his reading. “This,” he said, waving an elegant hand around to encompass the entire workroom, “is not what I expected.”

Hermione’s face was split between a grin and a grimace. “Me neither. But it  _ is  _ interesting. It would be more so if anarchy wasn’t the consequence for failing. What are you thinking?”

Quince contemplated the ceiling and sighed. “Many things. The Arthur myths have always been just that to me, myths. Merlin is a figure in Wizarding history, but as I understood him, the fables around his life were allegorical and not based in reality. He was the closest equivalent to a saint in the Wizarding world. The discussion of Pendragon in the scroll makes me question if it is a retelling of actual events, or simply another morality tale.”

Hermione nodded absently, running her hand across the top of one of the boxes from the Archive. “I’m not sure. I think that angle will have to wait for Malfoy. He probably has more knowledge about that era than we do. I’m concerned about the object and its effects on the Unspeakables. I’ve never heard of fire that can’t go out. I haven’t asked for access to the object yet. I think we need some sort of idea of what it may be, and how to break the surrounding wards before we should even be in the same room with it. I don’t want to risk more casualties.”

Quince drifted back to examine the photos of the cube again. “The origins of the runes on the cube and their formations are still rather mysterious to me. But the cube itself is interesting. The gold looks to be forged in a style popular more than 1700 years ago. I saw similar gold work in ancient Roman artifacts found in Pompeii. It was rare to have such flawless glasswork around that time though, so I suspect the glass is not actually glass. Maybe a magical construct? I had heard tales that once, in addition to being excellent metalworkers, the Goblins were also experts in other crafts like glass blowing. So perhaps the glass is Goblin in origin. I’ll need to examine the cube more closely…” Quince drifted back towards his bookstand, still obviously deep in thought.

“Perhaps the curse breaker might know something about Goblin craftsmanship. Or maybe Malfoy has some primary sources we can examine. I’ve done as much as I can in the sorting. I don’t want to winnow the sources any more without his input.” Hermione said, taking a step back from the Archive boxes.

Quince’s sharp eyes focused on Hermione’s face. “Speaking of which, do not think I did not notice your hesitation over this man, Malfoy. He’s from the Marquis of Caradoc line. I knew his grandfather, Abraxas. He was an unkind man. But his great-great-grandfather, Pembroke Malfoy, was a jolly old fellow. He was a few years above me at Hogwarts. He had the loveliest singing voice. There was a while when he was attempting to bring Muggle music to the Wizarding world. It never really caught on, but he did start the Wizarding Wireless Network. I imagine his descendants are still living off profits from that company.”

Hermione had a small smile on her lips. To imagine that part of the pureblood Malfoy fortune—that Draco boasted over so often while they were at Hogwarts—was derived from a company that was based on Muggle technology tickled her pink.

She sobered slightly as she considered her relationship with Malfoy. 

“He was cruel as a child. Not as bad as others, but he was very prejudiced. He was the first person to call me mudblood. After my second year I learned to keep my head down and avoided most of my peers. He still occasionally taunted me after that, but for the most part he just ignored me. He was Head Boy, so perhaps he at least proved himself to be vaguely responsible. But I haven’t seen him in a decade at this point, so I’m not sure what sort of person he is now.”

“Is he the current Marquis?” Asked Quince

“I’m not sure. I never heard about his father, Lucius, dying. But I really don’t know.” Hermione murmured. “I do hope he has mellowed with time though. His credentials are impeccable and given the gravity of the situation…” She trailed off as the door the the workroom opened.

Penelope entered followed by Draco Malfoy.

_ Speak of the Devil  _ Hermione thought. Malfoy looked entirely the aristocrat. He was taller than she remembered, and he had grown out his hair. He was, of course, dressed impeccably. He wouldn’t look out of place on a runway in Paris. He was still all angles, but he no longer looked as pointy as he did as a boy, his features had become more refined with age.

Malfoy had obviously not been told that he would be working with Hermione because his reaction when their eyes met was comical. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his eyes went round. Had he been holding anything, Hermione was sure he would have dropped it.

Hermione tried to keep her composure. “Malfoy, it’s been a long time. I trust that Penelope has briefed you on the situation?”

Malfoy visibly tried to get ahold of himself. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing at the spectacle. She had never seen Malfoy so thrown before; it was quite a difference from his cold and cutting demeanor she was used to from Hogwarts.

“Granger?!” He had obviously not gotten himself completely under control yet. “You’re H.J.G. Smith? The one who has been publishing in academic circles since our  _ fifth  _ year?”

Hermione offered Malfoy a grin that was just this side of smug. “Yes. I found it rather difficult to get published under my own name, so I used a pseudonym. You’ve heard of my work?”

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. You know damn well that your paper on utilizing runic symbols in arithmetic calculations was required reading for our NEWT arithmancy class. I only agreed to this project when I heard it was being headed by H.J.G. Smith.”

Hermione’s smile was now comfortably in the smug territory. She could not have imagined this interaction being any more satisfying. Maybe if he started to grovel. Grovelling would be nice.

“Yes, well, I’m lucky enough to have enjoyed some success in academia.” She schooled her smirk into a more serious expression, this next part would be critical. It would do no good to restart their relationship on a negative note if they were to work together. “So now that you know who I actually am, are you still willing to work with me?”

Malfoy frowned. “I—of course. Even if I can never put this secret little project on my resume, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. I know you’ve always done impeccable work, and the fact that you’re H.J.G. Smith only solidifies that. And this is exactly my research wheelhouse.”

“Even though I’m a mudblood?” Both Malfoy and Penelope winced, but Hermione needed to press now if they were ever going to be able to work cooperatively together.

“I was...misguided for most of my tenure at Hogwarts. My grandfather was very influential in my life at that time, and he had certain, very staunch, views that I learned to parrot.” He met her gaze and nodded shortly at her. “I won’t tell you that I went full Muggle lover, but I’m not the immature little boy you knew in school. Given my field of focus, I’ve had to do a significant amount of my research in the Muggle world. I’ve learned some level of...appreciation. I won’t lie to you, I still believe that the Wizarding world is superior in most ways. But I haven’t used  _ that  _ word in more than twelve years.”

Malfoy peered at her, a question in his grey eyes. “But you asked for me, not knowing if I held the same views I did at Hogwarts. And you were still willing to work with me. Why?”

Hermione grimaced, she had noticed that he never actually said he was sorry for his behavior in school, but she supposed this was as close to a real apology as she would get. “Necessity. History Masters are few and far between, and there is not a lot of current research about the era we need to know about. The pickings were slim. I also know it’s been a decade since we graduated. People change. Or at least I hope they do.”

Malfoy nodded thoughtfully and glanced at Quince. He then did a double take. “Mr. Quincey? Cranville Quincey?”

Quince was examining Malfoy with narrowed eyes. “Mr. Malfoy. Your looks favor your great-great-grandfather. Lucky. Your grandfather was an ugly git.”

Malfoy cracked a smile for the first time since he had entered the room. “Yes sir. There’s a portrait of you and my great-great-grandfather. You and your barbershop quartet. Grandfather had it put in storage, but Mother relocated it to the music parlor after his death. You’ve been criticizing my piano technique for many years now.”

Quince’s lips quirked up. “Well, I’m sure your technique can always use improvement.”

Malfoy nodded graciously, still smiling. “Yes, sir.”

Hermione turned towards Penelope. “Thank you so much Penelope, do you know when we might expect the curse breaker from Gringotts?”

Penelope checked her watch. “Fleur firecalled an hour ago and said that he should be here by 4pm or so. It’s three now, so I would expect him in about an hour. I also located the rest of the books you requested, they are on the table with the photographs.”

Hermione nodded and thanked Penelope for her help as the other woman left the workroom.

She turned towards Malfoy. “So, these are the files from 1707-1710 from the Ministry Archive. The Archive does not have any files older than those from 1707. Director Croaker is looking for the DoM archive in order to give us access to older files that might exist there. Also, Lady Longbottom offered us the use of the Kay library and said that she would bully any other noble if we needed access to any other house library as well. We’re looking for any mention of the Wizard’s Council, why it was disbanded, the phrases ‘High King,’ or ‘True Crown,’ or any records about the Ledger ceasing to function. I’ve bulk keyword sorted the files we have, but please feel free to double check my work. Now that you’re here I’m going to focus on the runework on the cube.”

Malfoy took off his robe and hung it on the back of a nearby chair along with his bag. He rolled up his sleeves and removed his wand from its holster. He began performing his own sorting and searching spells. “Lady Longbottom is rather fierce. I don’t doubt her ability to terrorize the nobility into submission. I brought my own sources as well. They’re in my bag. Let me sort through the material you already have and then I’ll pull out the ones that are relevant.

Hermione nodded and made her way over to the pile of books Penelope had left for her. She began sorting through them, looking for the various runic dictionaries she had requested. She found the books she was looking for and settled at the worktable that had the close-up shots of the cube. Her goal was to identify the origin of the runes used and to see if she could find any references to the unique flower-pattern that they were arranged in.

“So Malfoy, what can you tell me about the Wizard’s Council? I don’t remember much from our History of Magic class.” Hermione asked, opening four books at once with a wave of her wand.

Malfoy hummed under his breath, slightly distracted by his file sorting. “As you know, the Wizard’s Council was the precursor to the Ministry. It has its origin in Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. The noble titles of the Magical world also hold their origin in the same places. For example, my family’s title, Earl of Caradoc, holds its roots in one of the Knights of the Round Table. I’m not descended from the original Caradoc, but about a thousand years ago the Wizard’s Council granted my many-great-grandfather the title of Marquis of Caradoc for service to the Realm.”

Malfoy checked the results of his spell. “Well, Granger, your sorting was fine. Let me see if I can pull any details about the Ledger first.”

He continued on. “As I was saying, the Wizard’s Council was modeled on the Knights of the Round Table, but originally the positions were not hereditary. How exactly a seat on the Council was acquired, especially prior to the 1300s, is a bit of a mystery. There seems to be some indications that they were selected by the head of the Council, but references to that were rather oblique. I’m working on a paper about the Wizard’s Council around the time that exploration in the Americas was first starting, and let me tell you, those sources are bloody difficult to find. But by around 1500 positions on the Wizard’s Council were passed from father to son, just like the peerage seats in the Wizengamot.”

Hermione looked up at Malfoy, frowning. “Was the title of the head of the Wizard’s Council ‘High King’?”

“No,” said Malfoy, opening up a box labeled 1707. “As far as I know the head of the Council did not have a specific title, but I’ve never really seen any documents as old as the artifact found in the DoM, so I supposed that High King could be a title that was once applicable to that position. Arthur was referred to as the High King. I believe that some of his descendants also used that title, but his line fell to squibs at some point in the 1200s.”

Hermione refocussed on her task, and the team worked in silence for a while until Malfoy made a surprised noise. She looked up to see Malfoy examining a yellowed scroll carefully.

“Something of use?” Hermione asked.

“Hmmmm? No, not really,” Malfoy replied. “It’s a menu for the ball that was held in honor of the inception of the Ministry. They served a lot of tripe. But they also have a reference to a speech by the Duke of Lancelot. That title has been extinct for almost 200 years. This Duke must have been the last of his line, because by 1720 the title was declared dead.”

Hermione could not even begin to list the books she needed to read, because it was obvious from the past few hours that there were large swaths of the Wizarding world she knew nothing about. She suppressed her frustration at her ignorance, and instead asked, “are there many extinct titles?”

Malfoy looked up at her. “Yes, most of them in fact. At the height of the aristocracy in around 1650 there were about 150 active titles. Today there are about 28. Potter is the only remaining Duke. There are three Marquis titles and four Earls left. The rest are lower peerages; Viscounts, Barons, Baronets. Some die-off can be attributed to the fall in popularity of titles, especially around the French Revolution. But most of it is because of intervention by the Ministry. The Ministry has historically taken every opportunity possible to declare titles dead so that they can take control of their Wizengamot seat and put a Ministry stooge in place of a Peer. Technically, many of the dead titles are not actually dead, but the people who remain with claims to the title are women, only related through the female line, illegitimate, or deemed too far removed from the original line to claim the title.”

“I have so much reading to do once this is over,” Hermione muttered.

Draco let out a short laugh and returned to reading. 

Hermione mulled over what he said for a few minutes as she thumbed through a Celtic runic dictionary. She had never really heard of the Wizarding peerage until a few years into Hogwarts, and she hadn’t given it much thought even then. She had dismissed it as a holdover from ancient times, but had failed to account for how strongly Wizarding Britain held on to its old ways. If she were really going to work at the Ministry once this project was completed she would need to become much more politically savvy, and that would mean learning more about noble titles. If there even was a ministry by the time she was done, that was.

* * *

The team again worked in silence for another hour until the door swung open to reveal Penelope who was accompanying the most dapper looking Goblin Hermione had ever seen. He was dressed in a three piece Muggle suit, complete with pocket watch chain and ascot. She could never tell the age of other magical beings, but he looked to be an adult Goblin. Hermione was sick of trying not to look shocked today, but she again made an effort to remain impassive as she walked out from behind her table to greet him.

“Hello, are you the curse breaker we’re expecting? Has Penelope briefed you?” Hermione asked as she extended her hand in greeting.

The Goblin shook her hand firmly. “Yes, I am, and yes she has. I am Nagnok of the Goldforge Guild. I was told you were in need of a curse breaker familiar with ancient objects and intricate warding schemes.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, May I introduce you to the other members of the team? This is Draco Malfoy, our historian, and Cranville Quincey, our ancient artifacts expert. I’m Hermione Granger. I have a mastery in alchemy and will be heading up this research team.”

Nagnok inclined his head at the other two men, and then focused on Quince. “Mr. Quincey. It has been too long.”

Quince grinned at Nagnok, apparently very pleased to see him. “Nagnok! Still as sharply dressed as ever. I would have thought that running from possessed bats in Mexico would have broken you of that by now.” Quince looked at Hermione, “Nagnok and I did some expeditions for Gringotts in the 1920s. We were looking for the Magic city of Tenochtitlan, under the current Mexico City.”

“Quince,” Hermione said, bemused, “do you just know everyone?”

“I told you young lady,” Quince replied primly, “I dabbled quite a bit over the years. It leads to a certain circle of acquaintances.”

Hermione snorted and turned back towards Nagnok. “We don’t have the item here in the workroom, and I’m reluctant to directly interact with the cube before we are more certain of what it is and what its protections actually do. But Penelope can bring in the scroll and trunk. There might be spell remnants from the cube on both items. I also anticipate you might have some ideas about the spell, enchantments and wards on the cube given the symptoms of the Unspeakables at St. Mungo’s.”

“Fleur told me you were the bossy sort,” said Nagnok. “I have some ideas, but checking for spell remnants is also my first priority. I have no desire to be set on fire forever, so we are of the same mind when it comes to a cautious approach.”

Hermione looked to Penelope who nodded and went to go get the trunk and scroll. Nagnok wandered over to the photos of the cube as Hermione, Malfoy, and Quince returned to their individual tasks. Malfoy had made good progress on the boxes. He had developed an organizational system that enabled him to quickly eliminate all but four of the boxes that Hermione had dragged down from the Archive. 

Penelope returned shortly with the trunk remnants and the scroll on a cart floating behind her. Hermione thanked her and relocated the items to a clear space on a worktable. All the team members crowded around and examined the items. 

Malfoy was the first to speak, “well I can tell you right now that whoever did the rough translation of the scroll was rubbish at it. I’m going to have to redo it from scratch.” With that Malfoy gathered the photos of the scroll with a huff and a roll of his eyes and returned to the table he had been working at.

Hermione was too caught up in examining the fastenings that once held the trunk together in detail to notice Malfoy’s little sulk. “What do you think Quince? The fastenings are definitely no older than 900CE. The nails used are Roman in style, but given the size of the Empire and the fact their manufacturing styles spread out even further, that doesn’t say much... Nagnok, can you do your spell remnant search so I can date the objects? I don’t want my spell to interfere with your work.”

Nagnok took out what looked like an awl. The round wooden handle was elaborately carved, and the blade was a silver metal that shone with a magical light. He made a sweeping motion with the awl and a series of delicate flicks. A string of shapes emerged from the trunk. Nagnok manipulated the shapes with long, delicate fingers, pulling them apart, making some larger, wiping away others. The process took about ten minutes and Hermione stayed riveted the entire time.

Hermione had never seen Goblins perform magic before. She knew that the awl could not be a wand, as Goblins were forbidden from using wands. But it had to be a magical focus of some sort. She had thought that Goblin magic was entirely done without any accessories, but that obviously was not the case. Nagnok finished his examination and met Hermione’s gaze. She was sure he could easily read her deep curiosity.

“There was a strong preservation spell on the trunk. It also was warded against fire, water, spell damage, and bugs. There are remnants of the stasis spell that was on the scroll. The cube itself is deeply magical in its own right. The bottom of the trunk absorbed some of the cube’s ward, which is why that piece is better preserved than the rest of the trunk. The ward on the cube is linked to intent. What exact type of intent it is keyed to is unclear. We will have to interview the Unspeakables about their state of mind at the time they were attempting to open the cube. There are also deeper enchantments that left remnants in the trunk, but they are so muddled that I cannot make any definitive statements about them.”

“I’ll ask Healer Nott if we can visit St. Mungo’s in the morning to interview the injured Unspeakables,” said Hermione. “Do you mind if I—”

“Ask me about my magical focus? Your face is an open book witch.” Nagnok smiled, showing a row of very white and very sharp teeth.

Hermione repressed her own grin in return and nodded. Nagnok held out the awl for her examination. The elaborate carvings on the handle proved to be swirls of runes, arranged in a pattern she had never seen before. They almost reminded her of—

“Nagnok!” Hermione exclaimed, reaching over to grab close-up photo of the glass cube. “Is this work Goblin glass? The runes on your awl, they’re arranged in a non-traditional fashion. The runes etched on the glass are curved in a similar way.”

Nagnok pulled on the chain that Hermione had thought was attached to a watch and removed a monocle from his breast pocket. He placed it on his eye and took the photo from Hermione. He peered at it closely and traced a finger over the rune patterns.

“It’s...possible. We have not made glass in over a thousand years, the technique was lost to us many centuries ago. But these patterns, they are tied to magical power, intent, and strength of will. We use them in our magical foci to ensure that our will and power are properly funneled. The swirls on my awl are meant to help concentrate the power I channel through it. The pattern on this glass is not something I’ve seen before, but you are right, it is also not human in origin. I will need to consult with the head of our Guilds to see if any of the elders have seen this before.”

Hermione felt a little exhilarated at having made a breakthrough so quickly. “Are any of the runes Goblin in origin?”

“No,” said Nagnok, still examining at the photo. “Goblins never created their own runic alphabet, we use human alphabets. But we do not mix them in the way that has been done here. This is unique to this object.”

Hermione found her notebook where she had left it on her worktable and jotted what Nagnok said down. “Thank you Nagnok. Please take the photo if you need to. May I date the trunk and scroll?”

Nagnok nodded and pocketed one of the photographs. Hermione swirled her wand over the trunk in a familiar motion. It was one of the spells she had used almost every day at the junkshop. The result was a ribbon that sprung from the tip of her wand, it curved itself to read “850-860.” She performed the same spell over the scroll. The result was “700-710.”

“Interesting,” said Quince. “I would have expected them to date to the same period. This could raise an essential question. Is the scroll even related to the cube? Perhaps they were just stored in the same location? Maybe they are entirely unconnected.”

Nagnok shook his head. “The magical signature for the last spell cast over both the croll and the trunk match that of the topmost ward of the cube. It would indicate that one person put everything in the trunk and sealed it. It was an action of purpose.”

Quince frowned thoughtfully. “We should attempt to find out when the item was interred beneath the DoM. We’ll have to visit the excavation site.”

Hermione and Nagnok nodded in agreement. Nagnok continued with his examination of the trunk and scroll, and Quince joined him. What an interesting team, Hermione thought. If anyone had told her even two days ago that the team tasked with saving the government was a ghost, a Goblin, a noble heir and a Muggleborn she would have laughed so hard she probably would have ruptured something.

She shook her head and turned back towards the table she had been working at.

“I’ll leave you two to continue to examine these then.” Hermione said, resuming her runic translations.

* * *

Before she knew it several hours had passed. Quince and Nagnok had spent the time muttering back and forth to each other about the trunk and scroll. Malfoy worked in near silence, only the sound of shuffling papers and the occasional sigh belied his presence.

It was 8:45pm by the time Hermione looked up from her work. She dismissed everyone, letting them know to be back at 8am. Both Malfoy and Nagnok regarded her in a vaguely nonplussed fashion at being bossed around, but she ignored their looks and hustled them out of the workroom.

She turned to Quince after both Malfoy and Nagnok left. “Will you stay? You shouldn’t feel obligated to. You can return home with me if you’d like.”

“I will stay,” said Quince, floating over to his bookstand. “It has been many years since I have had access to such interesting reading material. I will be here when you return in the morning. Besides, I believe that both the young Malfoy and Nagnok have left me material to look over.”

Hermione nodded and packed up her things. She said goodbye to Quince and left the lights on as she exited the workroom and locked it behind her.

Hermione remembered the way back to the lifts and made her way there, thinking about her day. She had held herself together admirably, except for the few moments in the lift with Harry. 

She resolved to be better at keeping control. She used to be  _ so  _ good at it. There had been a time when at Hogwarts where she had been able to repress and restrain showing any emotion at all. She had learned it as a self-preservation mechanism initially. She had discovered that if she didn’t react, all but the worst bullies were likely to leave her alone. But after 10 years and thousands of miles of travel from that time and space in her life, she had forgotten those old habits. She made a mental note to start back up while she was here. Those muscles would have to be built back up again. She had heard enough stories about back-stabbing politics and the duplicity and danger of the Ministry to know that she should be on her guard at all times while in the building.

She practiced schooling her features into a mask of cool indifference as she made her way to the employee apparition point. With a pop she arrived back in the alley near her apartment. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lore-heavy chapter, there should be more Harry/Hermione interaction in the next chapter.
> 
> Again, I can't tell you how much I appreciate feedback. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione updates Harry on the team's progress and Harry speaks with Sirius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews! I deeply appreciate all of them.

**AUGUST 5, 2008**

Hermione woke ten minutes before her alarm. She couldn’t remember her dream, but she had woken feeling frantic and urgent, like she desperately needed to be somewhere else. She did her best to shake off that feeling and turned off her alarm.

It was strange, she reflected, to be excited to go in to work for once. It was the first time she felt that since moving back to the U.K.

She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her mother when she had arrived back from work. By the time she had gotten home her mother was already asleep, and Hermione knew from experience that disturbing her was more trouble than it was worth.

The shower was running, a good sign. It had been a while since Joyce had independently engaged in self-care without significant prompting by Hermione or the nurses from the service. She made her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the two of them.

The sound of the kettle startled Hermione out of her woolgathering, and she set the table. Joyce emerged from her room, dressed in a clean set of pyjamas. 

Hermione offered her mother a tentative smile. “Good morning mum.”

Joyce nodded absently and sat at the kitchen table.

“I had my first day at my new job yesterday.” Hermione paused to see if her mother would have a response to the statement, but nothing was forthcoming. “It was great. I’m working on a really interesting project.”

It was probably for the best that her mother wasn’t asking any questions about her project, thought Hermione.

“I’ve met some really interesting people. I saw Headmaster Dumbledore again. I even saw Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.”

That got a reaction from Joyce. “Ron Weasley? That little shit who made you cry when you were a kid?”

“Mother!” Laughed out Hermione. “That was years ago.”

Joyce looked at her skeptically, and reached for her tea. “I’m sure he’s still a little shit.”

Hermione smiled, today was a good day for her mother, it had been several months since she and Joyce had been able to have anything approaching a real conversation.

“Mum, it’s been ten years since school.” Hermione said, amused.

Joyce made a skeptical noise in the back of her throat.

They ate in silence for a while before Hermione figured that her mother might be feeling well enough to have a discussion about her health.

With her new salary Hermione had calculated that she would be able to afford a nurse to come for the full time she was at work. If her mother would agree to go into full time treatment she would even be able to afford that, providing she got a smaller and less expensive apartment, and cut down on her food budget.

“Mum, how would you feel if the nurses stayed for longer? I don’t want you to be lonely here, my new job has longer hours, and with my new salary I can afford to pay them to stay longer.”

Joyce’s eyes went blank and she put down her fork. Hermione could see her mother shut down and she suppressed the urge to scream. She had been so good a minute ago, and now she had retreated back inside of herself.

“No,” said Joyce, not looking at Hermione.

“The nurses could help you get out, even visit the cemetery more often?”

Joyce didn’t respond and stood up from the kitchen table. Hermione knew from experience that she wouldn’t get anything else from her mother, so she began tidying up.

Hermione got ready for her day, trying to think about how she might convince her mother to accept more care, but coming up short. It was hard to force an adult to get help when they didn’t want any. 

She would be lying if, in her darkest days, she didn’t contemplate just letting her mother fend for herself. But she knew that would be equivalent to a death sentence for Joyce. The month or so that Joyce had stayed in her home alone after Philip’s death had shown Hermione that Joyce, left to her own devices, would probably accidentally burn down her home. Or she would starve to death. 

Despite their strained relationship, Hermione still loved her mother. Moments like the one they had at breakfast made her remember how her mother used to be, before Philip’s death, before Hogwarts. She remembered Joyce comforting her when she came home from primary crying because someone had pushed her on the playground, or the times that she would make silly face pancakes for dinner just because. Even when Hermione had come home from Hogwarts, there had been times when she could tell Joyce forgot about magic for a while and fully embraced being a mum again.

Hermione tried to put it towards the back of her mind and focus on the research that would need to be done today. She had sent an owl to Nott last night about visiting St. Mungo’s the next day with Nagnok and Quince. She had received a prompt response, setting up a morning visit time.

After securing her room, she looked in on her mother once more. “Mum, I’m off for today. Maybe we can talk more about the nurses when I get home.”

Joyce didn’t respond so Hermione left the apartment and made her way to the apparition point.

* * *

Hermione popped to the employee apparition entrance to the Ministry and her employee badge immediately appeared on the lapel of her robe.

Making her way towards the lifts she realized that she had never updated the project leader, Harry, of the progress they had made yesterday. She slowed her pace and bit her lip while she contemplated what to do. 

She could send him an interoffice memo. That would perhaps help her new found resolution to keep better control of her emotions within the walls of the ministry.

But the moment the notion that she wouldn’t see Harry today struck her, the center of her chest felt hollow and ached. Hermione’s hand went involuntarily to rub her sternum. This was so inconvenient. If she had more time she would be researching her symptoms and her strange and emotional reactions to Harry. She decided she would look for some books to do some light reading in the evenings at home. Maybe she could find something to control whatever these physical symptoms were.

To avoid dealing with whatever was happening in her chest, she decided to stop in and see if Harry was in his office. 

She was most of the way to the lifts when it occurred to her that she wasn’t sure where his office was. 

Security should know, she thought, so she stopped at their desk to ask. The guard on duty gave her what could loosely be described as directions, but were in reality a series of grunts punctuated by words like “left” “right” and “two” and then waved her away with an impatient hand. He was obviously heavily disinterested in everything going on around him.

Hermione got on the lifts and hit the button for level two. Her stomach twisted with nerves and she tried to practice her meditative breathing. She again briefly considered just writing Harry a memo and then rejected it again, just as quickly, when the twisting in her stomach got worse.

The lift emptied into a bullpen filled with desks. She figured this must be the administrative part of the DMLE. She saw a door on her right labeled “Auror Department” and at the back of the large bullpen there was a closed door labeled “Director.” 

She picked her way among the desks, not making eye contact with the few people who were mulling around. It was still relatively early, so the bullpen was mostly empty, and most of the people that were occupying their desks seemed more interested in their morning cup of tea or the Prophet to pay her any attention.

Hermione hesitated half a second before knocking on the door labeled “Director.” Almost immediately the door swung open, and Harry’s broad frame occupied the doorway. Hermione was close enough so she could smell him, a heady mix of sandalwood, spices, and man. 

Half a step back let her comfortably meet his gaze. He looked rumpled, his white shirt was no longer so crisp, and his hair looked like he had been running his hands through it. She thought he looked magnificent.

“Oh,” his voice was deep and slightly rough. He cleared his throat and smiled down at her. “I’m happy you stopped by, come in.”

Ushering her in, he closed the door behind her. His office didn’t have any personal touches, but did have a lot of paper. An overfilled filing cabinet was almost lost under a pile of banker boxes. His desk was covered in open files, and one of the two chairs for guests was also covered in paper.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, looking mildly chagrined. 

He gestured her to take the open seat and sat behind his desk. She made her way to the empty chair and smoothed her skirt under her as she sat.

“Of course,” Hermione said, trying to remember to project calm confidence and not get lost in his attention. Having his focus was intoxicating. “As the project leader, I figured you’d want regular updates. I wasn’t sure what format you’d like them in? I can send a memo at the end of every day and emergency memos when there are significant developments? Or I can floo call you in the mornings? Or I can send papers only with significant updates?” Hermione realized she was rambling and shut her mouth so hard she heard her teeth click.

This keeping her cool thing was off to a roaring start.

Harry smiled at her. “I get so much paper in this office,” he gestured around and chuckled in a self deprecating manner. “I’d prefer in person updates. Maybe at the end of the day? I’m almost always here until quite late anyways.”

Hermione felt herself blush, bit her lower lip and internally started her chant of: _he’s a professional, I’m nothing special, calm down, totally normal._

“Are you sure?” She asked, proud that her voice didn’t squeak. “I’m not sure what the research schedule will look like. I don’t know how late our nights will be...”

Harry nodded, still smiling slightly at her. “I’m sure. If I need to leave before we meet I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, that’s fine with me.” This certainly put a kink in her plan to keep better control of herself while in the walls of the Ministry.

Leaning back in his chair, Harry crossed his arms. “So, any updates?”

Relieved to get back on the familiar footing of disseminating information, Hermione retrieved her notebook from her purse. She filled him in on the work they had already done, their plans to go to St. Mungo’s, and the thought that the glass of the cube might be Goblin in origin.

Harry looked thoughtful by the time Hermione finished. “Are you going to see the cube today?”

“Yes, I think so, after the St. Mungo’s visit. It will probably be be just me and Nagnok. We’re not sure what the wards might do to ghosts and I’d rather not risk an unexpected adverse reaction. Quince is frustrated by that, but he agrees.”

Harry uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, his face serious and his brows drawn together. His eyes met hers and their intensity was unexpected. “I’d like to be there as well”

Her head tilted slightly. She hadn’t expected that he would want so much involvement. Daily updates were one thing, but participating in the research was another. She was under the impression that Director of the DMLE was a time consuming job.

“Why?” She asked, not bothering to hide the curiosity from her voice.

One of Harry’s hands reached out to rest on his desk and his fingertips began to beat out a steady rhythm. “It’s potentially dangerous and you’re not trained for combat. I don’t particularly want you to even be in the same room with the thing, but I know that doing so is a necessary part of your work, so I won’t stop you.” He paused the drumming of his fingers and he regarded Hermione with an unexpected intensity. His vivid green eyes seemed to hold her gaze captive. She felt mesmerized. She was a snake being skillfully charmed. A zap of electricity made her spine straighten.

Harry sighed slightly, and in a softer voice, eyes still holding hers fast, said, “I just want to be there too. I never let my team take risks I’m unwilling to take myself.”

It wasn’t unreasonable, and he was right, she had no combat training. So her decision to acquiesce to the request was not difficult. What made her pause was the warmth that tingled under her skin at the protectiveness Harry was displaying. So instead of immediately answering she took a second to breath and chanted the refrain she was getting sick of. _Not important, just doing his job, would do it for any of his employees_.

“Sure. I can let you know when we’re ready to view the cube, if that works for you?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

Hermione decided she needed to get out of there. This meeting had fully thrown off her ability to remain cool and collected. She would need to take the long way to the workroom in order to be calm before she met the rest of her team.

Standing up, she picked up her purse. “If there’s nothing else, I need to meet my team before we go to St. Mungo’s.”

Harry shook his head and smiled at her. “No, nothing on my end. Saul will let you know when he’s found the DoM archive. I’ll expect to accompany you to the cube a little after lunch.”

Bobbing her head in acknowledgement, Hermione stood and walked to his door. With her back turned, she didn’t realize that he had stood when she did until he was close enough that she felt the heat from his body at her back. She looked over her shoulder, surprised.

“Here, let me,” he said, reaching around her to grasp the door handle. His arm was warm as it almost brushed her breasts.

Was it just her or did his voice sound lower than it had a second ago?

Harry pulled open the door for her and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. He stayed in the doorway as she made her way back to the lifts.

Her thought as she watched him through the closing doors of the lift was that she was glad there meetings would be after work, because it was going to be hard to concentrate after a meeting like that.

* * *

As Hermione had walked out of his office and across the bullpen, Harry had forced himself not to chase after her through sheer force of will. He was sure that if he checked, he would find indents from his fingers when he had gripped the door frame in order to restrain himself.

He made his way back behind his desk and sat down heavily in his chair, putting his head in his hands.

“You can’t have already had a rough day, it’s only 7:30 in the morning.”

Harry’s adoptive father, Lord Sirius Black, Earl of Cador, was leaning against the door frame of Harry’s office, dressed in the full dress robes of the Wizengamot.

“I thought I’d stop by and ensure you were alive, maybe invite you to the house for a drink after work. Remus and I missed you at dinner the last two nights. But it seems like you might be ready for a drink now.”

Taking off his glasses and pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes, Harry sighed deeply. “She’s beautiful and brilliant and magnetic and I don’t know what to do.”

Sirius was now grinning at Harry. It was rare that his son was anything other than professional and put together in the Ministry, so this was a real delight. It reminded him of Harry’s awkward teen years; an era of time that Sirius took great delight in still teasing Harry about.

“Tell your father about it. Let me disseminate my great knowledge and wisdom about pulling birds.”

“Dad, you haven’t _pulled a bird,_ as you so charmingly put it, in more than two decades.” Harry took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. “Has Albus briefed you on the situation?”

Sirius’s expression turned solemn. “Yes, I was voting in the chamber when the Ledger failed. I got the rundown on the aftermath from Albus, Lady Longbottom, and Saul. I know you’re the project leader and that you’ve put together quite the team.”

Harry grimaced. “It was really her that put together the team, I’m just along for the ride.” He sighed again.

“My reaction to her, to Hermione, is massively inconvenient. I’m her supervisor, for all intents and purposes. The duty we’re tasked with is of the utmost importance. I’m in a position of power over her, and to openly pursue her would be wildly inappropriate. I’m a grown man who doesn’t just chase after pretty women.”

Harry did not trust the mischief in Sirius’ expression. “I head a _but_ coming.”

“ _But_ I really wish I could.” Harry put his elbow on his desk and propped his head on his hand. “I can argue the other side of it as well. The project we’re on is temporary. Yes, I’m the project leader on paper, but in reality the title is a mere technicality. Saul’s the one she actually will be reporting to after this nonsense is over. She’s reporting to me right now, but I made sure that her contract made it clear that she has the power. She can quit at anytime after the 90 days and I can’t fire her unless she literally dies.”

“Well this is certainly a pickle you’ve put yourself in,” said Sirius, making his way to the open seat in front of Harry’s desk. “Tell me about the girl. All the others said was that she was brilliant, but that doesn’t fully explain...this” Sirius gestured with his hand, indicating Harry’s current state.

Harry huffed. “When I first found out about the failure of the Ledger and that an artifact had been found, I _knew_ that we needed H.J.G. Smith. It was just my immediate instinct, and you always taught me to trust those instincts, that they are a sign from Magic.” 

Sirius nodded and gestured for Harry to continue.

“I had followed H.J.G. Smith’s academic career since I was a teen. I always admired the unique approaches to theory she developed. So I had Kingsley to write the letter inviting her to be part of the project. I thought that a request coming from the Minister for Magic would have the most weight and would be better received.

“Once we sent out the owl I got minute by minute updates. One of my Junior Aurors tracked the Ministry owl to the owl post box offices. I was updated when another owl immediately left the owl post office. That owl stopped at Craville Quincey’s Magical Junkshop. I had expected the owl to go maybe back to the Ministry, or to some other research institution, or maybe even abroad. But for the letter not only to remain in Britain, but to go to a junkshop was just ...unthinkable.”

Sirius stayed silent, allowing Harry to get it all out. He hadn’t been able to express how distressing this situation had been for him before now, so he found himself pouring his heart out to his father.

“I was immediately told that the sole employee, other than the owner, was Hermione Jean Granger, the only child of Joyce Granger nee Smith and Philip Granger. Within ten minutes of Hermione receiving the first owl, I had her OWL and NEWT scores, copies of all of her letters of recommendation, a copy of her Mastery thesis, and records of all the projects she worked on at the Sorbonne. I still couldn’t figure out what the most brilliant mind in Britain was doing working the till at a storefront.”

“But then I got the record of her blood-status.” Harry’s hands clenched into fists and his voice grew tight. “It made me nauseous. The record of her blood-status was accompanied by two dozen rejected employment applications for the Ministry. 

“The oldest ones were application for head researcher openings, positions that she was more than qualified for. As the applications got more recent I could track as she lowered her aim. Senior researcher, then researcher, junior researcher, assistant researcher, assistant to the researchers. The most recent rejected application had been for a _secretarial_ position.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and laid his palms flat on his desk.

“I knew that coming back to the U.K. would mean dealing with blood-prejudiced gits. It’s one of the reasons I stayed away for so long. I have no desire to hear arseholes insult my mother’s memory. But this is ridiculous.”

Sirius was angry now. “Twenty four applications? The ministry rejected her _twenty four_ times?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, handing Sirius a stack of files from the corner of his desk. Sirius began to flip through the pages. “The only thing that makes me feel marginally better is that it’s clear that the hiring managers for all the positions she applied to had never reviewed any of her applications. All the rejections stamps came from the Human Resources department. They are the first screening for all applications to come through the Ministry. So someone in that department obviously takes blood-purity very seriously, and rejected all of Hermione’s applications on the sole basis of her heritage.”

Sirius threw the files back down on Harry’s desk with an angry noise. “How many other qualified candidates have we lost because of this screening process? Hell, how many Muggleborns have left Britain entirely because of shit like this? There must be a significant brain drain.”

“I know,” sighed Harry. “We’re going to need to go through that department with a fine tooth comb. Every department really.”

“So she obviously accepted the position, that’s good at least,” Sirius said, mouth still downturned. 

Harry laughed sharply. “She said no. She was very polite about it, but she said no and provided a list of alternatives.”

Sirius’ eyebrows shot up. “Then how is she here?”

“I tried to accept her answer. I went to write to some of the alternative candidates she suggested, but something in me just—refused. My chest felt—I don’t know—hollow from just writing the salutations for the letters. The feeling only stopped when I decided to tell Kingsley to send another letter to Hermione and try again.”

“What do you mean, your chest felt hollow?” Sirius lent forward, eyes intent on Harry.

Harry shrugged. “I can’t explain it properly, I just knew I had to get Kingsley to try again. She said no again, but she gave a reason, she wanted job security, and I figured after 24 failed applications the least the Ministry could give her was a little job security.

“I oversaw the drafting of her employment contract myself. I made it as generous as possible. I wanted her to be the most protected employee here. I wanted her to see that I—that the Ministry—wanted her.”

Sirius nodded. “Good man. There’s obviously something there, Magic guided your hand.”

“I had thought,” Harry paused and then leaned forward in his chair. “I had thought that my instinct was to ensure the best possible outcome for the project. But meeting her was something else.”

A charming smirk returned to Sirius’ face. “If it was only that I wouldn’t have found you with your head in your hands, looking despondent.”

Harry gave his father a bemused look. “When I first walked into the room I was excited to meet a brilliant academic. Instead I was confronted with the loveliest creature I’ve ever seen. To put such a brilliant mind in such a lovely body, Magic must have blessed us all dearly.”

“So what is the problem here Pup?” Asked Sirius. “From what you’ve said she’s smart, beautiful, and, I know from Albus, that she is a genuinely nice person. I’m failing to see the issue. If you really feel strongly about not abusing your authority —which, by the way is nonsense, because I saw that employment contract she signed—then all you have to do is wait 90 days and then ask her out.”

“I would, the wait will be painful, but that’s not the issue. Everytime I’m in the same room with her it feels like we’re connected. I can practically feel every breath she makes. It’s a constant struggle not to reach out and touch her. I can barely think. But when she leaves the room its worse. I can feel a tug at my core, at my magic. And all I want to do is follow her around and keep her happy, keep her safe.”

“You’re a mess kid.”

“Don’t I know it” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Whatever is between us feels...magical. Right now it’s hesitant and sweet, but that pull it feels like—”

“Compatibility. Your magic is compatible.” Sirius was regarding Harry steadily.

Harry had been focused on tracing the woodgrain of his desk, but met his father’s eyes at that. “It’s rare. It’s supposed to be impossibly rare.”

Sirius quirked a grin at him. “You’ve always led an exceptional life, why would this be different? Prophesied to be Voldemort’s equal, defeated him as a toddler and survived the killing curse, became the Master of Death, and then destroyed what remained of his soul in ritual, all before your 17th birthday. The past decade or so was practically boring when you compare it to your first seventeen years of life. You were never made to live a small life Harry.”

Harry let out a long breath. “Yeah. I guess. I just don’t know what to do about this.”

“Well you need to tell her, provided she doesn’t already know.” Sirius’ smile had turned soft.

“Yeah. I do. Before I make a mess of...whatever this is.”

Sirius stood and smiled down at his son. “Please do. Remember we have a Wizengamot session this afternoon, despite the fact that we actually can’t vote on anything. We’ll be holding debate for the new House Elf Protection law you put forward. Also Remus is annoyed at you, so you’re coming to dinner tomorrow night or he’ll come to the ministry and drag you there himself.”

“Fine Dad. I’ll see you later.”

Sirius’s grin was all mischief “Also invite your young woman. Remus is going to want to meet her soon. And so do I.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Let me talk to her first before you scare her off completely.”

After a bark of laughter from Sirius, Harry was again left alone in his office.

* * *

Hermione had indeed taken the long way to the workroom, walking up and down the hallway twice to ensure that she wasn’t blushing anymore.

Quince was floating in front of his bookstand when she unlocked the workroom.

“Good morning,” she said, putting down her bag and robe on a nearby chair. “Find anything interesting/”

The ghost made a motion and the book flicked closed. “No, not particularly,” he huffed, looking at the closed book on the stand rather crossly. “I decided to start with the True Crown mentioned in the poem. Magical Britain has a limited number of artifacts referred to as crowns, as we didn’t have a monarchy like Muggle Britain did. 

“The most famous known crown-like artifacts consist of Ravenclaw’s diadem, the Circlet of Hadrian, the Crown of the Goblins, and the Crown of Arthur. As far as the literature is concerned, none of them has been bestowed by Magic.”

“Well,” said Hermione, considering the possibilities, “it could be allegorical? The True Crown could merely be a metaphor for the will of Magic or the support of the people?”

Quince hummed, thinking. “Perhaps. But it sounds like a real object. Draco redid some of the translations before he left and managed to find an additional passage that had a description of the True Crown. From that, it sounds like it was a real object.”

“Really?” Asked Hermione, interested. “What is the True Crown supposed to look like?”

“Well,” said Malfoy from the workroom door, “it’s supposed to be very luxe.”

Hermione kept herself from rolling her eyes. “Yes, well, it is a crown, right? I’m assuming precious metal, expensive stones, intricate design?”

“Yes, all that rot.” Malfoy deposited his things at the table he had been working at yesterday and shrugged off his robe. “Well, I’m not actually sure. The scroll mentioned it was gold, and that it had been moulded in the forges of the Fae.”

“Fae. Are you telling me that there is yet another area of the wizarding world that I am woefully ignorant about?” She sighed deeply. “Someone is going to need to fund my book habit after this is over, because my reading list is becoming ridiculous now.”

Malfoy cracked a smile in her direction. “The Fae were the ancestors to the current fairies. They were larger and much more magically powerful. Morgan le Fay is said to be descended from the Fae, hence her name. They used to live in the deepest parts of forests, especially in Wales. Old stories say that like the Goblins, they were known for their crafts. However, unlike Goblins, their crafts were not forged of actual materials but of pure magic.”

Hermione closed her eyes, praying for patience. “‘Were’? They’re not around anymore? And how can something be crafted from pure magic?”

She watched Malfoy’s aristocratic shoulders shrug. “They stopped being mentioned almost a thousand years ago. I’m not sure where they went or if they were even real, to be honest. I also don’t know what it would mean for something to be crafted from pure magic. That’s just the language used in the primary sources.”

“Well, fine, that’s—fine.” Hermione sighed.

Sitting at his table, Malfoy began removing texts on Olde English translation from his bag. “Today I’m focusing on finishing a _proper_ translation of the scroll, and then getting through the rest of the boxes from the Archive. I saw that there are the minutes from the last Wizard’s Council meeting in one of the boxes, so I’m hopeful that will prove useful.”

“Good,” Hermione nodded sharply and turned towards Quince. “When Nagnok gets in we’re going to go to St. Mungo’s. Nott says that some of the Unspeakables will be available for interview.”

It was still relatively early, so the team began working in silence. A couple of minutes later Nagnok came through the door, carrying a pile of books taller than he was.

Hermione was closest to the door so she stood and helped him with his load.

“Thank you,” said Nagnok once he had put the rest of the books down. “I met with some of the Guild Elders last night and this morning. Many have not yet been interviewed, so I will continue to do so. I did bring a number of tomes from the Chief Mage’s library. The books concern how Goblins use runes and our rune patterns and shapes.”

Finger’s itching to grab the new and exciting knowledge, Hermione moved closer to the books Nagnok had brought. She had never known that Goblins had their own libraries. If this project had taught her anything it was that the magical world was far richer than she had ever considered before. There were so many new avenues of research were now open to her.

She stoked the cover of one of the books Nagnok had handed over, like it was a cat. “Thank you very much,” she said absently.

Quince cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the clock on the wall. Hermione nodded and stood to collect her coat and bag. “Nagnok, Quince and me are going to St. Mungo’s. We’re going to observe and speak to the injured, please do come with us.”’

Nagnok nodded. The three of them made their way to the workroom door and shut it behind them, leaving Malfoy to his translations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update for this week coming a day early. Next chapter will be up on or about the 29th. Next chapter, they visit the artifact, Hermione meets Sirius, and a Weasley makes an appearance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione visits the Wizengamot chambers and has an interaction with the artifact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My profuse thanks to everyone who has read, kudos'd, commented, bookmarked, and subscribed. I am filled to the brim with joy.

**AUGUST 5, 2008**

The trip to St. Mungo’s had been productive. Nott had been very helpful, meeting them at the public floo entrance and then showing them to the private room that the Unspeakables were being kept in. He had put up with dozens of questions from both Hermione and Nagnok about the efforts that had been taken by the Healers, what spells had failed, what had been successful, and other details about the cases.

All the hospital had smelled of the same sort of too-clean-antiseptic-and-bodies smell that Muggle hospitals had and Hermione had been forced to pinch herself a couple of times to stop herself from drifting off topic. She had never liked hospitals, and the amount of time she had spent in them with her father certainly hadn’t helped that aversion. 

They had been able to spend a relatively short amount of time though. In large part because all of the patients had been awake and lucid. 

It had shocked Hermione to carry on a conversation with someone literally on fire.

But the interview with the men had helped. And. From the satisfied noises Nagnok had made when conducting his diagnostics over the men, the trip had been fruitful on that front as well.

By the time Hermione, Quince and Nagnok had returned to the Ministry, Hermione was hungry and eager to speak with Penelope. She needed to request more books. She also needed to contact Lady Longbottom and see if she might have anything in her collection about the Wizard’s Council.

When they reached the work room they were greeted by a house elf in mismatching socks, a sharp looking suit, and a tie that could only be described as “fun.” He was laying out three place-settings on one of the empty worktables. On the table was what passedpassed modest feast. 

“Oh good,” Draco had looked up from his place in the corner of the room and nodded in greeting. “You’re back. Lovely, we were just being served lunch.”

Hermione focused on the house elf who bowed low, the tip of his long nose almost touching the ground.

“Oh! Missy Granger” Said the elf. “I is Dobby, elf of the Duchy of Llyr. I is having lunch for you and your researchers!”

“Thank you very much Dobby,” she said, leaning down to shake hhisis small hand, “please call me Hermione.” 

Dobby rung his hands and looked up at Hermione with a sincere look in his large wet eyes. “Oh Missy Hermione, yous is so welcome!”

With another low bow, the elf popped away.

Hermione had to appreciate Dobby’s thoroughness as she looked over the lunch spread. Not only was there plenty of food for both her and Malfoy, but he had also included some dish that Nagnok informed her was a Goblin delicacy. 

The living members of the team ate while filling Malfoy in on their trip to St. Mungo’s. 

It was the end of the meal before Hermione realized that she had failed to inform Harry exactly what time “after lunch” was, and that they had not specified where they would meet. 

Malfoy saw her pensive look. “Something on your mind Granger?"

Hermione frowned. “I told Harry that he could accompany Nagnok and meme down to see the cube, but I’m not sure how to let him know we’re ready to go.”

“Well,” said Malfoy, checking his watch, “the debate for the Wizengamot session should be ending in a couple of minutes. You can send someone down to go get him.”

“I’ll go get him,” said Hermione, standing up abruptly.

She was already most of the way to the door when Malfoy called after her “Level ten, take a left after you get out of the lifts and go until you see the statue of a wizard in a hat much too large for his head.”

Hermione turned briefly to see Quince looking at her speculatively. 

Confused, she shot a quick thank you to Malfoy and made a note to ask Quince what was up later.

* * *

Hermione was surprised to see Ginny and Ron Weasley emerge from the hustle and bustle and already in the lift as she entered. Ron wasn’t a real surprise, but Ginny was. Last Hermione had heard the woman was signed with some Quidditch team.

Despite their six years in school together, in the same house even, she really hadn’t ever spoken to Ginny. While she didn’t hold an eleven-year-old responsible for the actions of a teenage You-Know-Who and a basilisk, Hermione had expected some sort of acknowledgement from Ginny. But after she had been freed from her petrified state, Ginny had made what seemed like a concerted effort to ignore Hermione’s existence entirely. She hadn’t wanted an apology from the other girl, it wasn’t Ginny’s fault she had been possessed. But she had wanted a conversation, or at least for Ginny to stop pretending Hermione wasn’t in the room.

Ron frowned at her when he caught sight of. 

Ginny entirely ignored her presence. 

“Is Harry in his office? I thought I’d stop by. Mum wants to invite him to dinner.” Ginny’s voice was something that could have passed for idle curiosity had her gaze not been intensely focused on her brother.

“I dunno,” said Ron, completely disinterested. “Maybe? I don’t know why you and Mum are so keen on getting in with him. It’s not like he has time for lowly peons like us.”

“Wow Ron,” Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother. “I had no idea you knew such a fancy word, ‘peon.’ Is that in your word-of-the-day calendar.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to avoid laughing.

Ron huffed out a rough sigh. “I know what you’re trying to do. But it’s not like he’s going to get involved with the younger, untitled daughter of very minor nobility. Our father’s only a Baronet, and we’ve been broke for decades. I’ve heard that he received a whole boat load of courting offers, even one from Lord Shafiq for his daughter, who is part Veela. He’s a bleeding Marquis. Potter is not going to be interested in you. Besides, Cho Chang has accompanied him to the last charity ball he attended and has practically announced their engagement.”

Her heart felt like it stuttered. A hand to Hermione’s throat was the only physical sign of her shock. She had only just managed to stifle a gasp.

 _Silly, you don’t know him, you just work for him, you shouldn’t feel this—shouldn’t feel anything,_ she chided herself internally

The look on Ginny’s face was nothing less than mutinous. “You don’t know that,” she snapped, her voice low and hard, her eyes darting to Hermione.

“He hasn’t even given you leave to call him anything other than his title and you’ve met him five times at this point. I’m pretty sure.” 

The lift reached 10 and Hermione exited the lift first, walking quickly to leave the sibling behind her, still bickering.

* * *

Hermione slipped in to the public gallery of the Wizangamot Chamber just in time to catch Harry step up to the podium at the center of the chamber. He had changed at some point after she had seen him and was now in bespoke dressrobes, looking every inch the aristocrat.

Harry’s magically amplified voice carried through the chamber.

“I stand today in support of the House Elf Protection Act. There are insufficient protections for the creatures that feed us, tend our houses, and care for our children. House elves rely on Wizardkind for magic and protection, and in exchange offer us their loyalty and service. This symbiotic relationship has been benefiting both races for millennia. However, there are some among us who would abuse this sacred bond. This legislation is a means to combat that abuse.

“It provides protections in law against the willful or reckless physical or magical abuse of a house elf. Last year in the U.K. alone 75 house elves were murdered or grievously injured by wizards. We can and must do better. A society is judged on how it cares for its most vulnerable members.”

The short speech was met by part thunderous applause, part angry muttering. Harry made his way back to his seat in the peerage section. The chamber was called back into order by Headmaster Dumbledore, who was looking sharp in bright purple robes that bore the insignia of the Wizengamot.

“Sir Avery, Baronet of Segwarides, this body acknowledges you.”

A man in puce robes stood and sketched half bow to Headmaster Dumbledore. He was wearing puce dress robes and an expression of contempt on his face.

“Chief Warlock, thank you.” The man’s voice reminded Hermione of the ads for used cars she used to see on the telly as a child. Smooth, almost charming, but mostly slick and untrustworthy. “What His Grace fails to acknowledge is that the interference with the bond between wizard and servant is a gross imposition by the government. Magic governs us, why should we cede power over our innermost lives and have this oversized hand of the state interfere? What is next? Are we to be forced to accept Muggles into our homes? Are we to be forced to treat Doxies as honored guests? If Magic wills house elves a certain level of comfort, then Magic will see to it. Who are we to interfere with its will?”

Harry looked thoroughly irritated with Sir Avery and stood

“What Sir Avery _fails to acknowledge_ is that we are the guardians of that balance,” Harry’s voice was fierce and it gripped Hermione forcing the breath from her lungs with a shuddering exhale. “Magic has gifted all of us to see to its will ourselves. That is why we have free will. The protection of others is a gift and a duty that we are entrusted with. To expect the active intercession of Magic in day to day life when it has already given us its greatest gift is absurd. We must take an active interest in the world around us and not rest on our laurels, growing lazy and complacent, lest we be forsaken by Magic!”

She managed to slip out of the gallery as the Chief Warlock dismissed the body.

Wizengamot members streamed out of the peer’s exit. Hermione lingered in the hallway between the exit and the lifts, hoping to grab Harry. He came out almost last, deep in conversation with someone who Hermione recognized from the papers as his father, Lord Sirius Black.

There was a tense set to his shoulders that Hermione attributed to the debate. He was just past the threshold when he looked up sharply, searching something out. Harry noticeably relaxed when their eyes met. Hermione hadn’t realized that she had been holding herself tense as well until her shoulders dropped as well.

A pang under her breast bone made her remember though, _practically engaged, not for me, I’m nobody_ and she forced herself not to react to his soft smile.

Harry touched Lord Black’s elbow and nodded towards Hermione. He strode towards her purposefully, a look on his face she couldn’t quite read. He didn’t look angry, he just looked—intense.

She caught sight of Lord Black smirking at his son’s retreating back.

Harry stopped directly in front of her. She felt a grin split her face and saw it mirrored on his.

“I saw you, at the end, that was—that was _amazing,_ ” said Hermione, emphasizing the last word, her breath catching a little. _Silly, not yours, calm down_ she chanted to herself.

To her surprise Harry’s cheeks tinted a dull red. “Thanks. I hate public speaking. But I was the one to put the bill forward, so it was my responsibility to defend it.”

“Well I couldn’t tell, you did a very good job.”

“I trained him up well.” Hermione hadn’t noticed Lord Black join them. All of her focus had been centered on Harry. Lord Black’s smile was tilted and teasing, inviting Hermione to share the joke.

Harry angled his body to invite his dad to join their conversation. “Dad, this is Miss Granger, she’s leading the project Albus told you about. Hermione, this is my father Lord Sirius Black, Earl of Cador.”

Hermione offered her hand. “Lord Black, it’s a pleasure”

Sirius’ grasp was warm and firm. “It’s Sirius, please. I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Professor McGonagall had once told her that Sirius Black was the most charming man she had ever met, and Hermione could see that now.

Lord Black oozed charisma. He was looking at her like she was the only person in the room, a skill Harry had obviously learned from his father. Hermione could see how he had managed to hold together the most powerful voting bloc in the Wizangamot.

“I hope you’re settling in to the Ministry well. I know it can be a bit of a bit of a nightmare. When I first returned from the colonies I swear I got lost every day. Harry has told us about how brilliant you are. My husband Remus and I would love to invite you to dinner sometime this week. Are you free perhaps evening after tomorrow? Harry will be there” Sirius’s smile was displaying a cultivated innocence that made Hermione immediately suspicious.

Hermione’s eyes widened perceptibly as she reminded herself to keep a neutral expression. 

Her quick mental math told her that it would be a good move to keep Lord Black on her side. He was an influential member of the Wizengamot, a peer, and by all account fabulously wealthy. But more importantly, the Black library was rumored to be one of the largest and oldest private libraries in Britain. He also happened to be the father of her boss and inappropriate crush. And he had said Harry would be there. 

She did not acknowledge that her immediate instinct to accept was almost entirely for the latter two reasons than for the more practical considerations.

“Yes, of course. I’d love to.”

“Excellent!” Sirius clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “We look forward to it. I need to go yell at Lord Greengrass about something, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

He left with a wink in Hermione’s direction and she exhaled sharply once he left.

“I’m sorry about him” said Harry, a bemused expression on his face.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Lor—Sirius was very charming.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Harry rolled his eyes. “He’s aware of it too.”

“Yes, well...” Hermione refocused on her task. “Nagnok and I are ready to go to the artifact at any time. Do you need time to change or get lunch?”

“No, I’m ready now.”

They had both turned towards the lifts when Sir Avery and a man Hermione didn’t recognize grabbed Harry’s attention. She watched as he stiffened his spine and his shoulders became tight. He shifted slightly to put her behind him as the men approached. 

“Sir Avery, Mr. Thicknesse” Harry’s voice was colder and curter than she had hear before. 

“Your Grace,” the man who Hermione didn’t recognize looked flat out untrustworthy. Maybe it was the goatee, or the slicked back hair, or the insincere smile on his face. “We were...disappointed with your new bill. We know you are newly returned to our shores, and that you are unfamiliar with our culture. We had hoped to some to a compromise that would be less radical. We know that you have no desire to subjugate the peerage so dramatically.”

Harry made a dismissive noise at the back of his throat. “Mr. Thicknesse. I may have been educated outside of Britain, but I was raised by the Earl of Cador. You would agree, he comes from one of the most...traditional families in the peerage. I am aware of _our_ customs and _our_ culture. I am also aware of _our_ duties. The proposed bill does nothing to subjugate anyone. It simply ensures we all retain a basic level of humanity in our treatment of other creatures.”

Sir Avery gave Harry a sour look. “Your Grace, you must know that any imposition in to the familial affairs of our most prominent citizens is simply intolerable.”

“Well, they will not have to tolerate it as long as they do not abuse their house elves. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

Sir Avery suddenly caught sight of Hermione and she felt his eyes travel the length of her body. She repressed a shiver of dismay. 

Sir Avery’s eyes didn’t meet hers, but rather lingered on her hips and then on her breasts. “But it appears we’ve been rude. Please introduce us to your charming companion Your Grace.”

Harry placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and drew Hermione slightly forward. Harry let his other hand rest protectively on hers. His posture was battle-ready, and his eyes were still fixed on Mr. Thicknesse and Sir Avery. 

“Sir Avery, Mr. Thicknesse, this is Miss Granger. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a meeting to get to.”

Harry turned again so that he was in-between Hermione and the other men and led her briskly to the lifts. As they turned Hermione saw Mr. Thicknesse scowl in their general direction and Sir Avery look at them speculatively. She didn’t like either expression.

The lift doors closed, and Hermione saw Harry’s shoulders relax. He removed his hand from hers to press the button for 9. She had to bite her lip to keep a gasp silent. His touch, his skin on hers had felt so wonderful, and she keenly felt its loss. 

“I’m sorry about that,” said Harry, exhaling sharply. “They’re terrible men. They’ve been under investigation on and off for more than 30 years, but the Aurors can never get anything to stick. Especially on Sir Avery because the bar for arrest is higher for a peer.”

“It’s fine. Um...Nagnok said he would meet up with us in front of the artifact room.”

Harry nodded and they stood in silence, her arm still tucked in his.

 _Not mine, not mine, not mine_ her brain chanted, trying to push out the tingling feeling she got from being so close to him.

The lift doors opened and they exited, turning the opposite way she usually went to get to the workroom. Harry led her down a series of turns and they finally stopped in front of an inconspicuous looking door. Or it would have been inconspicuous if Hermione hadn’t seen the glimmer of a strong protective wards emanating from the door.

Nagnok was examining the door with interest as they arrived. Harry, still keeping a hold of Hermione, used his other hand to wave his wand over the door handle in a complex pattern. He then placed his bare hand on the wood of the door. The glow of the wards briefly increased and then faded. 

The door swung gently open to reveal a nearly empty room. There were no windows in the rrom and the walls and floors were carved with gently-glowing runes. Hermione recognized the runes as those of protection, containment, and strength. In the very center of the room was a sturdy looking wooden table. The only item on the table was the cube, which was slowly pulsing with a soft grey light.

Nagnok entered the room first, keeping to the outskirts of the room, walking around to look at the cube from every angle.

Harry and Hermione brought up the rear. Hermione detangled her arm from Harry’s as she took a step towards the box. She could feel power from the delicate looking glass cube. It was smaller than she had anticipated. The size of it reminded her of her parent’s microwave.

Hermione took two and a half steps towards the box, enthralled. It was a deeply magical object. She could feel it calling to her. It felt like a sweet song, a half-hidden melody that wove through her entire being. 

“Can you feel it?” Her voice was half breathless.

Nagnok eyed her, speculatively. “No, I don’t feel anything. Your Grace?"

Harry shook his head and eyed her, concerned.

A shudder made its way through her and she forced herself to take out her wand. The plan was for her and Nagnok to preform passive magic detection spells that would not feed more magic to the ward. Hopefully they would be able to gather enough information to begin to build a ward breaking curse that would be effective against the cube.

Casting a series of spells at the box with few delicate flicks of her wrist, a series of shapes, lights, and colors appeared. Hermione took out her notebook and begin recording the results. Across the room Nagnok had done the same with his awl and was now manipulating his results, examining the results of the spell closely.

The whole process took maybe fifteen minutes to complete. The entire time Harry was lingering by Hermione, flicking his gaze around the room, obviously uncomfortable being so close to something so dangerous.

“We have enough information to begin the spell-creation phase,” Hermione announced, putting away her wand and her notebook. Nagnok pocketed his awl and made his way back towards her.

“There is just one more thing I want to check.” She took a few steps closer to the box. “The photos didn’t show it, but it looks like some of the runes are shifting. I want to examine the process up close.”

“Careful,” said Harry, gruffly.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been around much more dangerous objects.” She was maybe a foot away from the box. The pull towards the box grew in strength as she approached it. The box wanted her to touch it. Needed her to touch it. The gently pulsing of light from the box had increased to an insistent pace.

She leaned close to the cube to get a better look at the runes, and that’s when it happened.

A tether, the same soft grey color of the cube shot out of the rune-bare portion of the top of the box. Faster than her eyes could follow it wound its way around her right wrist. 

Harry moved so fast across the room Hermione could swear it was apparition. He pushed her behind him, none too gently.

The tether of magic attached to her wrist as soon as Hermione got more than a foot and a half away from the cube. The tendril retreated back. Its retreat looked almost embarassed, which was weird.

Harry hustled her out the door and back into the hallway, never turning his back to the object with Nagnok close on their heels. 

The door shut behind them with a push of magic and Harry finally turned towards her so she could see his face. His eyes looked borderline frantic and he begin to run his hands down her arms, seemingly trying to reassure himself that she was whole and in one piece.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Hermione repeated, breathless.

His hand grasped her right wrist, fingers circling where the tether had been. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice rough.

“No, it didn’t hurt, it was just surprising.” 

The tether hadn’t felt bad at all. In fact, it felt very much the opposite.

It felt powerful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few hours early. Next chapter you can look forward to more progress on the artifact and an interesting dinner with the Potter/Black/Lupin family.
> 
> Also I’ve started a Hermione/Marcus Flint ABO fic. I’m almost completely done with that and it’s short so it should all be posted by the end of February. As opposed to this monster, which is getting longer because I can’t help lingering over every little thing. I understand ABO isn't everyone's cup of tea, so ymmv.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione recovers from her interaction with the artifact, gives Harry an update, and runs into an old classmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who read/subscribed/kudos'd. Special thank you to those people who reviewed. I love reviews, I love theories, I love feedback, I love comments (I agree, Ginny does need to get over herself, and Ron did behave like a dick in the meeting).
> 
> I am cross-posting this on FFN under MissELYLux. It's about 4 chapters behind where I am here. The version there will be T-ish, and the version here will be E.
> 
> I expect updates to continue to be weekly, but I am getting into my last semester of grad school, so there may be delays.

**AUGUST 5, 2008**

“Fuck.”

Hermione’s voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming for a long time. She felt a little like she had been _stupefied_ and then _rennervated_ , punch-drunk and a little off-kilter.

One of Harry’s hands was still running up and down her arms, checking for injuries. His other hand held the wrist that had been enveloped by the tether of magic.

Harry dragged her to a bench in the hall, a few feet down from the artifact room. He pressed down on her shoulder and forced her to sit on the hardwood. He crouched in front of her, releasing her wrist, and bringing his hand to her face. He tilted her face up, his hand warm on her chin as he checked her eyes.

Taking out his wand he cast _lumos_ and used the light to check her pupillary response. The light reflected off the two rings on his right hand and Hermione was momentarily distracted. When he was satisfied, he moved his hand so that his palm was cupping her cheek gently, still looking at her with a worried frown.

Hermione felt herself blush in response. How could it be that even in this weird magical emergency, he was having such a strong effect on her? 

Nagnok made his way over to the bench, awl out. When he reached her he began casting a series of diagnostic charms. His movements were precise and practiced. Hermione followed his awl with her eyes and made a mental note to ask more questions about the magical practice of Goblins. Maybe he could point her in the direction of good resources.

The Goblin was frowning as he dismissed his spells. “You are suffering from mild shock and there are some strange residual effects in your aura. Perhaps indicative of a power boost of some kind? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I guess. My wrist aches? And I definitely feel a little...out of it.” Hermione’s response was stilted.

Nagnok and Harry’s eyes both went to her right wrist. Hers did too. 

At first glance it looked normal. But her long sleeve was obscuring most of it. She used her other hand to push up the cuff of the sleeve, and lifted her arm so she could see the inside of her wrist. That’s when she saw it. 

Where the tether had grasped her right wrist was now was a thin silvery-grey band that almost looked like a scar. It wrapped around in a smooth line on the front of her wrist and on the inside it branched off in opposite directions. On the side of her wrist by her thumb, the line followed one of her visible blue-green veins down into her arm. It disappeared about halfway to her elbow. The visual effect made it look like it was being absorbed into her bloodstream. By her pinky the line turned in the opposite direction, towards her palm, going up the center of her hand and becoming more faint as it ventured up her right ring finger. The mark disappeared completely at the tip of that finger.

Hermione used her left hand to trace the band genty, barely skimming the surface of her skin with a shaking hand. It wasn’t raised, and felt no different than the rest of her wrist. The only difference she noticed was that perhaps the band felt a little cooler to the touch.

Her eyes snapped up to dart quickly between Harry and Nagnok.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Her voice was low and borderline frantic.

Nagnok gestured for her hand and she gave it to him. He traced a spindly finger along the band. “Fascinating.”

“You’ll forgive me,” said Hermione, voice high and reedy, “if I’m less _fascinated_ and more _alarmed_. None of the Unspeakables reported the box...reaching out to them. No one who’s been around it either, witch or wizard, has elicited any sort of reaction like that.”

“No,” said Nagnok, still eyeing the mark, “your experience is unique. How did it feel?”

Nagnok released her wrist and she rubbed it unconsciously. Hermione took a minute and breathed deeply, trying to recall her feelings at that moment. She needed to treat this like any other artifact investigation. Getting remaining frantic about the situation was a hindrance. She let go of most of her anxiety and tried to answer objectively. 

“Weird. It didn’t hurt. It felt like—like a power surge. I felt like I had touched a live wire. But it wasn’t unpleasant. It felt welcoming? Certainly not hostile.”

Harry ran a hand over his mouth, still frowning. “You’re not going back in there.”

“Not right now, certainly.” Hermione said, tartly. She was feeling slightly more herself, her nerves had stopped humming and her voice was back to its normal pitch.

Harry’s lips pressed together in a flat line. “ _Now_?”

“Well,” Hermione stood dusting her hands on her skirt. She was relieved that she was steady on her feet. “It’s foreseeable that I’ll need to return at some point to disable the wards, or to examine the object once the wards are down, or to take more readings.”

A huff left Harry. “That bloody thing was dangerous and it attacked you!” He stood as well, glowering down at her.

Her head tilted, thoughtfully. “I don’t think it was an attack. At least it didn’t feel like an attack.” She started to make her way back towards the workroom, with Nagnok and Harry following. “It was friendly? Or at least, there was no deterrence, no pain, no fear.”

The trio made their way the rest of the way to the workroom in silence. Hermione, trying to remember the feeling the box had given her, and Harry still looking stormy and upset. Nagnok was still frowning thoughtfully, passing his awl from one hand to the other.

If Hermione was honest with herself, she was deeply shaken still. Years of experience working with dangerous objects helped her shake the physical symptoms of the incident. She had experience with ancient objects attacking her before, many in fact. But this was different. This wasn’t an attack. It felt more like it was trying to test her. She was worried that she had failed the test. But she was more worried that she passed it.

They met a curious Quince and Draco. Hermione tried her best to tell them what had happened, but both Harry and Nagnok interrupted to give their impressions. Harry’s interjections made the occurrence sound much more dangerous than Hermione felt it had been. Nagnok’s were more academic.

By the end of the retelling both Quince and Malfoy were bent over Hermione’s wrist, examining it closely.

“Well Granger, you certainly know how to ratchet up the dramatics” Malfoy’s voice was dry as he straightened from his hunched position.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Thanks Malfoy. Having a mysterious magical object reach out and grab me was definitely the goal.”

Harry, who was sitting at a nearby table snorted in amusement.

Hermione cut her eyes towards him, smiling slightly at him.

Standing, Harry walked towards the knot of researchers. He put his hand on her shoulder. The contact made her attraction to him hit her, hot and low in her gut.

“Please don’t go back in there without me.” His gaze was enchanting, and she found herself looking up at him, captivated. He made her feel like she was the only person in the room. In the universe. 

She nodded silently, and he squeezed her shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of the jumper she was wearing. She could swear she felt the imprint of each of his palm sear into her skin.

He graced her with a smile and her smile in return was automatic.

“Draco,” said Harry, turning to the blond, “I’ll see you at Narcissa’s party.”

Draco nodded, eyes quickly flicking between Harry’s face, his hand on her shoulder, and her face. She blushed thinking her attraction must have shone through her eyes. Then she blushed even harder, embarrassed to be blushing at all.

With one last gentle press of his fingers, Harry removed his hand from Hermione’s shoulder and said his goodbyes to the rest of the team.

Maybe it was her imagination, but his departure seemed reluctant.

* * *

It took Nagnok, Quince and Hermione little time to come to a consensus that she should not go back into the room until they could disable the syphon ward. If more readings needed to be taken Nagnok and Draco could do it. She retrieved a book on artifact information diagnostic spells and shoved it at Draco, in case he was called on to assist.

The information that Nagnok and Hermione had been able to retrieve was exceedingly useful, and they spent the rest of the afternoon building the bones of the ward disabling spell they would need.

Evening came on them quickly, and at 7:45PM Hermione dismissed everyone. She made sure Quince had the books he wanted to read that night and then warded the door behind her.

Waiting for the lifts she remembered she had to go see Harry for their check-in. 

The bullpen in front of his office was slightly busier than it had been that morning, but not by much. It made sense that the administration of the DMLE was mainly conducted during normal business hours.

The door to Harry’s office was already open and she could see him hunched over his desk, one hand running through his hair, the other curled around a quill, scratching things out on a long roll of parchment. He looked deliciously disheveled. 

She knocked on the doorframe and he looked up, annoyance clear on his face. She saw the moment he realized it was her and his expression shifted to something close to relief.

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said, smiling, “save me from the most boring paperwork that’s ever come across my desk.”

“Given the amount of paperwork in your office ‘most boring’ must be very boring indeed.” She teased.

“I’ve only been here a little over two months and this is the 12th requisition request I’ve had to fill out. Somehow I manage to mess up a new thing every time I submit it. How hard is it to ask for better spell armour?”

“Hmmm,” she moved around the desk to look over his shoulder. “Well, it says at the top that the form needs to be filled out with official Ministry Green ink. And if I’m not mistaken, the ink on your quill right now is black, so perhaps that’s your first problem.”

“Fuck,” Harry balled up the paper work and tossed it across the room, successfully making it in the trash can. “That’s a new mistake. I did it in the right ink every time before now. I guess I need to come back to it in the morning when I have a clear head.”

He gave her a self deprecating grin and gestured to the free chair. It didn’t look like he’d gotten through any of the paperwork in his office since the morning, in fact, it looked like he had somehow accumulated more paper.

“So any updates?”

Hermione told him about St. Mungo’s, which she had neglected to do earlier in the day, and then about the progress that the team made after her incident in the artifact room.

“Is your wrist, I mean, has the mark faded?”

“No,” Hermione held out her hand for Harry to examine. The mark hadn’t faded at all, in fact it had become slightly more obvious against her tan skin. The smooth silver line was now outlined in white. “It’s changed color some, but there’s been no pain or other physical symptoms.”

His hand was warm, and the drag of his thumb across her palm sent a shiver down her spine. She felt the metal of his rings contrast with the warmth of his skin. She felt the now-familiar tug under her breastbone.

Harry made a noise in the back of his throat, halfway between an acknowledgement and a sigh. “I don’t like that it’s changed, and if anything else happens I’m dragging you straight to St. Mungo’s.”

Her tongue wet her bottom lip. “Fine. But I promise you, all the diagnostics Nagnok and I did register no difference and no issues. Still some interesting residual patterns, but nothing dangerous or harmful.

Harry huffed out a sigh and released her hand his fingertips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

The room was starting to feel very warm. Or at least that’s what Hermione told herself as she shrugged off her outerrobe. His eyes followed the movement of her shoulders, and then snapped back up to meet her gaze.

“So,” Harry said, clearing his throat, “My dad wanted to send along his regrets, he actually won’t be able to host you the day after tomorrow, Thursday, for dinner.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, keeping the disappointment out of her voice. Hermione felt her heart sink and scolded herself for being irrational again. Of course Lord Black hadn’t meant his cheeky dinner invite. He had better things to do than host a researcher who was ill advisedly obsessed with his son.

Harry offered her a small smile, oblivious to the hurt now nestled under her heart. The silence lingered for a moment. Hermione would have normally dismissed herself, but she found that she didn’t want to leave, despite the ache that had taken up residence in her chest.

“So you know Malfoy?” She asked instead.

“Yes, his mother and my dad are cousins. They weren’t close as children, but they struck up somewhat of a ...friendship when Draco and I were children. His father, Lucius, helped us with a—a large, long term project.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed for a second. A ‘large long term project’ was a weird turn of phrase. She remembered the rumors that went around Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy’s father was a Death Eater. So it was interesting that a former Death Eater had worked closely with The-Boy-Who-Lived on something. She filed away the information for later.

A knock on the doorframe startled Hermione into forgetting what she was about to say. She twisted around in the chair to see Ron Weasley and Cho Chang. Hermione repressed a flinch at the other woman’s presence. She started her internal chant again: _not mine, no reason to behave this way, calm down, just an employee, just proved it too._

Cho Chang waltzed in ahead of Ron. 

Cho had been a bully. Hermione never knew why the other girl had fixated on her at Hogwarts, but she had been absolutely vicious. Hermione actively skipped thinking about the cruel prank Cho had spearheaded during Hermione’s fifth year. It had been a dozen years since the incident, but thinking about it still hurt. Instead, she focused on taking deep breaths and ignoring the spike that seemed to have grown in the back of her throat.

“You aren’t busy now, right?” Cho’s voice was airy and unconcerned as she placed both palms on his desk and leaned forward, giving Harry, what Hermione assumed to be, a great view of her cleavage. 

To Harry’s credit his eyes didn’t even wander. And Hermione was watching closely. He did give Cho a strained, if friendly, smile.

“Cho, I’m in a meeting. Can this wait?”

“Oh,” Cho pouted and glanced at Hermione over her shoulder, giving her quick glance, and then dismissing her completely. Hermione bit her tongue. Cho was obviously still the mean little child she had been ten years ago. “Well, can you take a bit of a break? It’s late and I want to go out to dinner.”

Hermione wrapped her hands around the arm rests of the chair she was in. It was a failing attempt to keep herself grounded. _Not mine, be rational, this is ridiculous, just an employee_.

“Not tonight Cho. Maybe next week.” Harry turned his focus to Ron. “Auror Weasley, did you need something?”

Ron nodded and handed a thick file to Harry. “This needs your signature. It’s the case file on the warding project. You’ve already reviewed it. Also the Head Auror was wondering when you would be able to give her an update on…” Ron’s eyes flicked between Hermione and Harry in a meaningful way “the project.”

“I’ll provide one tomorrow.” Harry scrawled his messy signature on the file and handed it back to Ron.

Ron’s eyes drifted to admire Cho’s backside and he nodded his goodbye. Hermione couldn’t really blame him. Chang did have a spectacular arse. 

Cho sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll see you at Narcissa’s party at the very least.” Cho pushed herself off the table dramatically, and walked back to the door. Hermione’s hands twisted on the arm rests she held on to. She wondered if there would be nail marks left in the wood when she let go.

Cho flounced from the office, leaving quiet in her wake.

“Well,” said Hermione, breaking the silence, grateful that her voice was steady and calm. “That’s my update. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

With that she stood and left. 

The sharp hollow ache in her stomach served as a painful reminder. He wasn’t hers. He was just her boss who she knew next to nothing about. And whatever this weird connection was that she was feeling was by no means reciprocal. She remembered what Ron had told Ginny in the elevator. Harry and Cho were practically engaged. 

Afterall, the last time she had competed with Cho Chang for a boy, the results had been emotionally devastating. That was not something she could put herself through again.

* * *

She made it home, emotionally exhausted.

Joyce had obviously had a bad day. She was already in bed, asleep.

Hermione let her rest, making her way to the kitchen. She microwaved a frozen dinner for herself. It wasn’t very good, but it was warm and filling, and ready fast.

She still had work to do. Something had been itching at her since her encounter with the cube. Up close, some of the rune patterns looked familiar. It reminded her of something she had spent a lot of time on, but at the same time it was just out of her reach. She thought about it as she cleaned the kitchen with a flick of her wand and settled into her room for the evening.

She didn't touch the fact that she was purposefully focusing on the academic problem rather than her personal one. Every time her mind touched on the interaction between Cho and Harry, a sharp ache blossomed in her chest. So her solution for now was to just not think about either of them at all.

The comforting smell of old books greeted her. 

Her bedroom was sparse, but comfortable. She had no decorations on her walls other than a calendar. In addition to her work table and chair, there were half a dozen bookshelves lining the wall, and a bed, which sat in the corner of the room. Her bed was the one nod to comfort that she had. She had managed to find a reasonably priced canopy frame at the second hand store in her neighborhood. The luxurious white duvet and pillow set had been an impulse purchase. It had been on deep discount at Marks & Spencers, and she hadn’t been able to resist. She had what could generously be called ‘too many’ pillows scattered across the soft surface. 

She reclined on her bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. 

It was recently. The runes were fresh in her mind. She practically felt her finger tracing over the indents made by the runic carvings.

Then it hit her. The pyramid. The one she had been working on when she first got Kingsley’s letters. How could she forget? That had just been a few days ago.

She shot upright from her bed, and took the two steps from to her desk. On her desk was the box of objects she had taken from the junkshop. She had dropped straight into bed the past few days so the box had yet to be unpacked. 

As soon as she put her hand in the box she felt the pyramid smack into her palm as if she had summoned it. She ran her fingers over the runes. Yes, these were the same.

Hermione frowned, turning the gold pyramid over in her hands. From what she could recall, the object had been in possession of a Mexican wizard who had immigrated to the U.K. in the 1950s. There weren’t any provenance documents that came with the object and its origins remained a mystery. The research Hermione had done indicated it had something to do with blood magic, but that whatever spells were contained in it were currently dormant, despite her best efforts.

She retrieved her notes about the pyramid and began reviewing them. 

A few hours later she fell asleep, notes in one hand, pyramid clutched in the other.

* * *

Harry hadn’t had the best day. 

It had started off wonderfully. Hermione had paid him a visit in his office and then his dad had gotten in some light ribing but it had gone downhill from there. First, there was a series of boring and ultimately pointless meetings, then that arsehole Avery had tried to sink his creature rights bill, and Thicknesse and Avery had tried to accost him after the vote. 

Then his—no, not his—Hermione had been attacked by whatever that box was, followed by more pointless meetings. There had been a firecall from his dad letting him know that there was an emergency with the Muggle repelling charms on their house in Italy. That meant Sirius would need to be there for at least two days to fix it, so Harry needed to reschedule dinner with Hermione. To top it all off, his meeting with Hermione had been interrupted, and she had left in a hurry.

He rubbed his chest. Being away from her physically hurt. He wondered if it hurt her too. Maybe he was just hyper-aware of their compatibility and of the link they were subconsciously building.

He settled on his sofa in his study, and began reviewing the files he had brought home from the office. It was nothing pressing, but there had been some Death Eater sightings in Northern Ireland, and Harry needed to decide if he was going to assign a team of Aurors or if the resources were better served elsewhere.

Winky popped next to Harry, carrying a tray of food. “Master Harry is forgetting to come home for dinner again.” Her voice was tart and disapproving.

“Sorry Winky. I got caught up in work again.”

Winky harrumphed, frowning at him and set the tray down on the coffee table in front of him. With a swish of her skirts she turned and popped away.

Harry smiled to himself. For all her sass, he loved Winky. 

He had gotten her after Crouch Sr. and Jr. had both passed, neither of natural causes. Crouch Junior had broken his father’s _imperio_ in 1994 and killed Crouch Senior. Then Junior had gone to France to try to avenge his master, but the endeavor had been unsuccessful. When Junior attacked Harry had not been alone. He had actually been in the company of his dueling instructor, Mad-Eye Moody. Together they had been able to but Crouch Jr. down very quickly. 

Afterwards the elf had appeared, called by the death of her last master. She had taken one look at the dead body of Crouch Junior and began to wail. Harry had been at a loss of what to do and Moody had wanted no part of it. After some cajoling, Harry had persuaded Winky to come home with him. A week later she requested that he bond with her. Harry was surprised that she wanted a connection to the person who helped kill her last family, but had agreed quickly, not wanting her to start crying again. After the new bond settled Winky had been able to tell him that her upset at Crouch Junior’s death was a reaction spurred on by the sudden loss of all of her magic at the breaking of the bond. Her grief was not based in any real fondness for either Crouch.

He was picking at the tray Winky left when he got the notification that someone had apparated inside his wards. He had a very limited number of people with that sort of authorization, so he knew it had to be family. Whoever it was would find him, or one of the elves would tell his guest where he was.

Two minutes later Draco walked through the door, and made a beeline to the drybar that was set up in the corner of the room.

“So what’s with you and Granger?”

Harry tilted his head, watching Draco. “Not beating around the bush I see”

“Well you should know that she’s not the sort of woman who is interested in your usual type of relationship.” Draco poured himself something dark and expensive. He then sat opposite Harry in a luxurious leather arm chair.

“Usual type of relationship?” Harry frowned. “What does that mean?”

Draco leaned back in the chair and raised an eyebrow at Harry. “You know. Brief.”

“I’m not some sort of womanizer.” Harry protested.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be involved with a witch longer than two months.” Draco took a sip of his drink.

Harry opened his mouth to object, thinking back over his previous lovers. Shit, he had never really lined them all up before. Draco was right. “Merlin. Am I a promiscuous man-whore?” 

Draco laughed at the shocked expression on Harry’s face. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not like you’re the hit it and quit it type. You are a romantic. But you are your father’s son and you have been...unlucky in love, shall we say.”

“Well I never really dated in France all that much. My first relationship started shortly before I left for the States and then ended because neither of us were interested in long distance.”

“Ah yes, was that Slyvie Delacour? Beautiful woman, part Veela, wasn’t she?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, but really I was just a bag of hormones, happy to be with a beautiful woman. She’s married now. To some Belgian prince or something. I got an invitation to her wedding.”

“Did you see anyone seriously while you were in the Colonies?”

Harry gave Draco a look. “Well obviously not that seriously, considering my newly discovered status as a reprobate. Three one-night stands and four women I considered serious at the time.”

“And then you waltz in here, the only Duke in the Isles. I know you’ve had women here falling over you mate, I’ve seen them.”

“Yes, well,” it was Harry’s turn to make his way to the dry bar and pour himself a drink. He wasn't sure how this conversation had become a detailed recounting of his romantic history, but it was rather embarrassing. He wasn't the sort to kiss and tell, but Draco was like a brother, and he had no plans to give any personal details about any of the women. “I’ve gotten offers, but I haven’t taken anyone up on anything. It’s been a hectic two months.”

“Really? Not even Cho Chang? The rumor I heard from Blaise who was told by Pansy, who had spoken to Padma, who had it from Parvati, that Lavender saw you with Cho Chang at that new romantic restaurant in Diagon Alley, L'Entrecôte. You apparently were hot and heavy at the table.”

Harry rolled his eyes and made his way back to the sofa. “Hardly. I went on one date with the girl, and then she accompanied me to a charity event. That’s it. The most physical contact I had with her was my lips on the back of her hand. She’s been nowhere near my bed. Dad introduced me because he’s trying to get Lord Chang’s vote on the newest budget bill, and thought I might be able to smooth the way a bit. She’s nice enough, if a little obvious. I would have thought the title hunters would be more subtle about it.”

“Well you should tell Chang that. Because I also heard that she’s boasting that she’s a breath away from being the next Duchess of Llyr. She’s talking about a short engagement because you’re so eager to bed her. Apparently she has her dress picked out and everything. It’s one that can accommodate any...growth she might have.”

Harry groaned. “Shit. My cock is never going anywhere near that woman.”

“Since obviously I’m not throwing you a stag do or a baby shower any time soon, you may want to address that.” Humor glimmered in Draco’s grey eyes. “Also you need to clean up your language if you want a chance with Granger. In school she was a prim swot.”

“You knew her in school.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I was a little shit to her though. Not my finest hour.” Draco grimaced, not fully meeting Harry’s eyes. “It was—I have no excuse really. I was a prejudiced bully and I was unkind to her. Especially the first two years or so. She had a rough time at school”

“Weasley treated her badly in the initial meeting.” Harry was watching Draco closely and noted how uncomfortable the other man looked at having to own up to his past bad behavior.

“Ron Weasley? Yes, he’s always been awful to her. Most of Gryffindor was. I don’t think she had any friends in school at all. The girls in her own dorm were vicious to her.”

Harry pressed his lips together. What Draco was telling him wasn’t shocking. Hermione had alluded to it herself. But it was still galling to hear that such a magnificent woman had been the victim of childhood bullies.

“Can you tell me anything else about her?”

“She dated Cormac McLaggen for a brief period of time, but he left her for someone. Cho Chang, actually, if memory serves.”

Harry grimaced. If that was true, then Cho’s behavior towards Hermione earlier that night had been especially rude. That might also explain Hermione’s quick departure after Cho arrived.

“So what are your plans for Granger?” Draco swirled his glass then took a long sip, looking the picture of a bored aristocrat.

“I plan on marrying her”

Draco choked on his liquor and sputtered. “Excuse me?! You’ve known the woman for all of three days and you’re ready to marry her?”

Harry chuckled at Draco’s shocked expression.

“We have compatible magic.”

“Holy shit.” Draco put down his glass on the coffee table with a sharp clink.

“You’ll need to clean up your mouth too. After all you need stay in your boss’ good graces,” Harry teased

“But seriously—really?” Draco’s eyes were intense. 

Harry nodded and rubbed his sternum. “I felt it the moment I met her. It’s like my magic is tugging on me. All I want to do is be with her. Keep her safe and happy. When I touch her...it’s like she’s all there is in the world for me.”

“Do you know how rare that is? There hasn’t been a documented case of magical compatibility in over a hundred years.”

“I know. I’m sure I’m right though. It’s the only explanation for—all of this.” Harry’s hand waved over his chest, gesturing to himself, trying to encompass the insanity that had become his life in the past three days.

“Have you told Granger? She probably has never heard of it. She was raised by Muggles, and Hogwarts never had a Wizarding culture class.”

“I haven’t. I just haven’t had the chance yet.”

“Harry, you must tell her and soon. Granger thrives on information. If I hadn’t had classes with her, working under her would have told me that. She needs to be told before she goes and researches it herself and comes up with an incorrect or incomplete answer. You know how little is written about magical compatibility.”

Harry exhaled, frustrated at the entire situation. “I know. I know. I’ll tell her. I just want to come to her with resources. Books, articles, diaries, something for her to confirm what I tell her. Otherwise I’m just some strange wizard telling her we’re the equivalent of soulmates, with the added bonus that if I was evil I could steal all her magic.”

Draco frowned thoughtfully. “Yes. I could see why you might want to reassure her about that.”

Harry sighed deeply. “This is a mess.”

“Well, you never did take the easy road.” Draco took up his glass again and took another sip.

“Hardly my fault, if you’ll recall.”

Draco laughed humorlessly. “Quite right.”

They drank in companionable silence for a while and then discussed Narcissa’s upcoming party. An hour or so later Draco saw himself out, leaving Harry to contemplate his next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one quick side-note: I am trying to make this a bash-free story. I believe everyone in this story is human, which to me means they are fallible but not pure evil or pure good. That doesn't mean that everyone will be redeemed at the end and live happily ever after, but it does mean that no one is a straight up bitch for no reason. 
> 
> That being said, I'm sure that my definition of bashing is not everyone's definition of bashing, so YMMV.
> 
> Also the characters have lived different live up to this point. So Ron has never really had the chance to get out of the shadow of his brothers, and Cho never experienced the loss of Cedric. Hermione didn't have the support of Harry and Ron in school. They're still the same people, but their experiences have shaped them in slightly different ways.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tries to stay away from Harry and goes on an unexpected field trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so pleased that people like this fic. It is so much fun to write and getting comments makes my day! Thank you again to everyone who has liked/subscribed/bookmarked/kudos'd/read.
> 
> Song I am listening to (but has nothing to do with the tone or content of this chapter): Otherwise by Remember Sports

**AUGUST 13, 2008**

Hermione worked like the devil was on her tail for the next week. 

If she was honest with herself, it was because—through sheer ridiculousness—she had managed to break her own heart in less than three days. 

So instead of dwelling on her pain and her hurt, she focused on the task at hand. The volume of work her team had to accomplish made it easy to keep distracted. She threw herself into creating a spell that would destroy or dampen the protective ward around the box. She hoped that the spell would also be able to let magic work on the injured Unspeakables in St. Mungo’s. 

She and Nagnok were making good progress. Quince concentrated on sussing out the origins of the object, and Draco made his way diligently through the resources from the Archive and the ones he had found in the Malfoy family library.

No one took the weekend off. Everyone was keenly aware that they were in a race against time with an indeterminate amount of work to do in order to accomplish their goal. They still kept relatively normal working hours and Hermione ensured everyone was out of the office before 8pm every day. But no one was under any illusions that this was anything other than an emergency.

She kept Harry updated. 

That was always the hardest part of her day. 

She did her best to keep the meetings as short and as professional as possible. She came up with a formula she followed: She didn’t make small talk, she avoided eye contact as much as possible, and she didn’t linger. She would tell him exactly what they had accomplished that day and what they planned on accomplishing the next. Then she would excuse herself as politely as possible.

It was painful. And Hermione couldn’t even say it was working. Harry tried to engage her in conversation about non-work related things. At first he made these inquiries with a hopeful smile. Every kind look he gave her made it feel like a colony of butterflies had taken up residence in her chest. But as the week progressed he stopped trying to engage her.

By the end of the week he no longer was smiling at her. That both helped and hurt.

In order to keep her distance she would clench her fist, digging her fingernails into her palm, forcing herself to remember that he was Cho’s, not hers. By the end of each meeting she would have crescent shaped divots in her hands that took hours to go away completely.

She still felt the sharp hollow pain in her stomach whenever she thought of him with Chang.

But she pressed on.

Hermione kept the similarities between the pyramid and the box to herself. She told no one about it, not even Quince. She justified the decision by telling herself she wasn’t entirely convinced it was related. But she still felt compelled to carry the pyramid with her wherever she went. 

On Thursday, exactly a week after she Harry disinvited her from dinner and she found out he was in a relationship with Cho, she found herself in the workroom early. She had been having trouble sleeping, and instead of spending more time at home, she escaped to the Ministry earlier and earlier each day. She had arrived in the atrium at 5:45AM that day. The halls had been entirely empty, even the security officer had been asleep at his desk.

Quince greeted her with a nod and a long look as she made her way to the desk she had claimed as her own.

They worked in silence for several minutes before Quince looked up from his book.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

Hermione set aside her own book and looked at her closest friend. For a second she contemplated denying everything. After all, this was an important project, so it would make sense for her to be worried about it and put long hours in.

But truth be told, she didn’t have the energy for that fight. 

She exhaled deeply. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well,” said Quince drifting over to her table. “Why do we not begin with the reason you have been looking frazzled and unhappy? When we first took on this project, you were more vibrant and excited than I had seen you before. Now you look worse than you did when you were working at my junkshop.”

Hermione sighed again and pressed her palms into her eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening Quince. I—There’s this, I don’t know, connection, and then there was someone I went to school with, and I just—Things got all twisted and I don’t know why I feel like—this strongly, it’s _completely_ irrational.”

Quince used a long translucent finger to tap on his chin thoughtfully. “Does this have something to do with His Grace?”

Hermione’s hands dropped from her face to rest on the table in front of her. She looked down, suddenly fascinated with the grain of the wood. She contemplated how much to say. Quince had been her friend for years now, but she had never really confided in him. They shared their academic interests and theories, and Quince would tell her stories from his expeditions, but they had never discussed emotions. Her childhood had made her reluctant to trust others. It was a failing she had worked hard to overcome, but back in Britain surrounded by people she grew up with, she found herself reverting to old habits. She had regressed, falling back into old patterns of insecurity and mistrust.

She threw caution to the wind. “Yes. When I met him, it was like something...shifted. I can’t really explain it. I can feel him when he’s in the room, and when he leaves there's a tug, a pull, from under my breastbone that makes me want to follow him. The slightest amount of attention and I turn into a giddy school girl. All I want is to be near him and for him to be happy and...I’ve never behaved like this before. I don’t know what it is, and the symptoms are so vague that researching whatever this is has felt futile.”

She ended her frustrated rant and looked at Quince who was staring at her, bushy eyebrows raised.

His questions came fast, and his tone was one of intellectual fascination. Hermione had used the same tone often enough to know it well. “You said, a pull? From in your chest? Have you been having trouble sleeping? What reaction do you have to his touch? Any other physical reactions? Has he performed any magic on you?”

Hermione looked at Quince sharply. “Do you know what is happening to me?”

Quince put his hand into his pocket and began fiddling with his pocket magnification tool “Maybe. But I need more information.”

Hermione huffed in irritation and tried to recall the questions Quince had just lobbed at her. “Yes, a pull in my chest, like an ache almost? Like I want to follow him wherever he goes. I feel better when he’s nearby.” She drummed her fingers on the table in front of her, obviously impatient to learn what her mysterious ailment might be. “I have been having trouble sleeping. He hasn’t performed any magic on me. When he touches me...It’s hot and it makes me shiver. Sometimes it feels like electricity, tingly. It’s wonderful. But then when he stops I feel...bereft.”

Hermione stopped drumming her fingers and fixed an intense look on Quince. “There, I answered your questions, what’s wrong with me?”

Quince examined Hermione closely. “Have you ever heard of magical compatibility?”

Hermione frowned at him. “Magical compatibility? I think I’ve heard that phrase used in regards to matching wands to wizards and witches? Mr. Ollivander said that the wand chooses the wizard.”

“An oversimplification, but yes. Magical compatibility doesn’t happen only with wands though. Witches and Wizards may have magical compatibility with other magical objects, creatures, or even people.”

Hermione added yet another item to her list of things to research once this project was done. “What does it mean to have magical compatibility with something or someone?”

“Well, like with a wand, if you have magical compatibility with an item you can use that item to direct your magic, or if the item has magical properties itself, you can absorb the magic of that item. For example, the awl that Nagnok uses is something that I assume he had magical compatibility with. Seers often have magical compatibility with the cups they use for tea leaf readings or the cards they use for cartomancy.

“If a person is magically compatible with an animal, they can use that animal as a conduit for their magic. The Muggle American tradition of snake handling in religious services has its roots in this sort of magic. There are those that can use animals as one would use a wand. If the creature is magical then a wizard who is magically compatible with that animal may harvest that magic. If you harvest the magic of a magical creature, that creature will die.”

She worried her lip, wishing she had time to do her own research on the topic. “So if you’re magically compatible with a person?”

“People who are magically compatible are drawn to each other in every way: physically, emotionally, sexually, mentally, and magically. When in contact they can cast simultaneously and can funnel magic through each other, and use each other’s magic. That sort of casting is incredibly powerful. It is said that the Great Fire of London in 1666 was the result of a magically compatible pair casting a simple _incendio_. But magically compatible people are exceptionally rare.”

“Why would they be rare? Being magically compatible with an object is very common, every witch and wizards has a wand. Why are people different?”

Quince smoothed his fingertips over one of his eyebrows. “No one is certain. The most common hypothesis is because it can be abused, and Magic protects its own.”

Of course there would be an unfortunate catch to this rare magical circumstance she had been thrown into. “How can it be abused?”

“Well, just as when a person is magically compatible with a magical creature that person can harvest the animal’s magic for themself, the same is true between two magically compatible people. It is possible to harvest, well steal really, the magic of that other person without the use of a ritual or a spell. This will kill the person who loses their magic. Magic saw this abuse and it is said that Magic stopped giving the gift of magical compatibility between people, except to those who it deemed worthy, those with pure hearts.”

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. This was just spectacular. She and Harry were connected on some sort of cosmic level, he was in a relationship with someone else and had no feelings for her, and she had no agency in this situation at all.

She lifted her head to address Quince. “So, if we are magically compatible, I have no choice in this matter? I have no free will? Magic decided that we’re compatible and that’s it? I won’t be able to stay away?”

Quince frowned at her. “This is not about choice or free will, this is a gift. You know that there are prophecies and that divination exists, this is simply magic of that sort. It is a blessing, not something to despair over.”

Hermione was still not on board. “But divination is hogwash.”

The ghost snorted. “Well, divination as it is taught in Hogwarts is certainly nonsense, but there are true seers who do real work. Those who are subjects of prophecy always meet their fate, but how they do so is entirely in their own control. How you meet your fate is as well. You may fight magical compatibility, and there are those that have in the past, some successfully. But I cannot stress this enough, this is a gift from Magic, a blessing.”

Hermione rubbed a hand over her forehead still trying to think. 

Quince was still frowning at her. “If you don’t trust His Grace, then I can try to contact some of my old friends and we can get you out of the country. But Magic knows your souls, and if you two truly are magically compatible, then it is a great boon and you are destined for greatness.”

Hermione laid her hands back on the table in front of her and took a calming breath. “I only know how I feel. I have no idea if he feels anything similar. I’m sure he doesn’t. Is that possible?”

Quince regarded her skeptically. “Really? Are you sure? His Grace has been...very attentive.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, no I’m sure he doesn’t. He’s seeing an old classmate of mine, Cho Chang. Also when his father, Lord Black, invited me over to dinner His Grace uninvited me later that day. None of that sounds like he has any feelings for me beyond professional courtesy.”

Lips pressed together, Quince hummed noncommittally. 

“Well,” Quince finally said, “I’ve never heard of magical compatibility only going one way, or only one person being able to feel it. And your symptoms, as you’ve described them match that condition and no other I can think of. But magical compatibility is so rare that there have been no studies of the condition, and there is barely any literature about it, only old family stories passed down through the generations. So I suppose it _might_ be possible.”

Hermione dropped her head back down to her hands and massaged her temples, trying to come up with a plan of action. So she was maybe magically compatible with Harry, _maybe_. She saw no signs he was drawn to her. He had an almost-fiancee. She was his employee. They were both racing against the clock to save the government.

“Well,” Hermione said, coming to a decision after several minutes of thought. “I’m going to continue on how I have been the past week. I’ll be professional and courteous. If we’re magically compatible, it’s clear that I’m the only person being affected. I have no desire to wreck his life with this or steal his magic, or break up his relationship. So I’ll do nothing.”

Quince looked at her in a way Hermione could only describe as pityingly. “That does not sound like a tenable plan.”

“It’s what I’ve got for now.” Hermione snapped. “I can’t afford distractions and I already managed to become too emotionally invested. So I need to triage the situation. Work comes first. After the affair with the artifact is sorted I’ll deal with whatever it is I’m feeling for His Grace.” Hermione nodded to herself and rose from her table, ready to get back to work.

She didn’t see Quince’s dubious expression at her announcement.

* * *

A few hours later Nagnok and Draco entered the workroom, deep in discussion already.

They broke off their conversation when they caught sight of Hermione.

“Granger,” said Malfoy in greeting. Despite Hermione telling him to call her by her first name, Malfoy insisted on continuing to call her Granger, so she continued to call him Malfoy. He told her old habits die hard. 

“Malfoy, Nagnok, good morning.”

Nagnok made his way directly to her table and sat down across from her. “Hermione, in my interviews with the Elders of the Guilds I came across some information and artifacts that may be relevant.”

“Oh?” Hermione closed the book she was reading and focused on the Goblin. 

Nagnok steepled his long fingers in front of him. “I spoke to the remaining Elder of the Cutglass Guild. The Cutglass Guild merged with the Silvertongue Guild three hundred years ago, and there is but one remaining Goblin who was a member of the Cutglass Guild in his infancy. He told me stories that had been passed to him. He said that the Chief Mage may have some examples of Goblin-made glass that match what we have here."

A lead, Hermione was thrilled. “Did you bring the artifacts?”

Nagnok shook his head. “No, they are sacred to the Kingdom and I can’t remove them from the Realm. But both the Chief Mage and the King have indicated that they are amenable to letting you view them.”

“Just me?”

“You and the Duke of Llyr would be welcome. They are available to view today and I thought you would want to see them as soon as possible. Unfortunately the wards do not allow spectral beings to pass, and Malfoy has another task today. So it will just be the two of you.”

Hermione looked at Malfoy, a question in her eyes.

“Yes Granger, I’m going to Lady Longbottom’s library today. She knows I’m the historian on this project and owled me this morning to let me know that she had found some potentially relevant documents.”

“Good,” said Hermione, pleased at the progress that was being made, “let me know if you find anything that may help with dismantling the wards.” 

Hermione focused on Nagnok and pointedly did not return the stare that Quince had been giving her since Harry’s title was mentioned. “Why His Grace?”

“His Grace will serve as a representative of the Ministry. We are taking you to one of our sacred sites, our artifacts are stored in the Guildhall of the King. Our treaty with you humans says that a senior Ministry official must be present when a human visits one of our sacred sites.” 

Hermione nodded absently, distracted by the idea of a whole day with Harry.

Nagnok stood. “There is no reason we should not leave now, His Grace has been notified and will meet us before we depart.”

Hermione also stood. “Okay, let me grab my things. Quince will you be okay on your own today?”

Quince had not stopped staring at her, and she knew that there would be a discussion about this later. “I believe I will accompany Mr. Malfoy. I have heard that the Longbottom Library also has tomes on artifacts that may be relevant.”

“Perfect.” Hermione began closing the books she had been consulting. “Quince, Malfoy, I’ll be in touch later, let me know what you find.” 

She flexed her hands, open and closed, open and closed, trying to dispel the nervousness that came over her at the idea that she would be in close proximity to Harry very soon, presumably for the rest of the day. Normally she had all day to psych herself up for their meetings, now she only had a matter of minutes.

Quince gave Hermione one last look and turned to Malfoy to ask him something that she couldn’t quite hear over the whooshing sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

She methodically re-packed her bag and grabbed her cloak, making her way to the workroom door.

Hermione was first out of the workroom. She turned and bumped into a solid, tall form. It took half a second for her to realize it was Harry. She was chagrined to realize that she recognized him not from his face or his body, but from his scent.

“Oh,” the noise of surprise she made was less a word and more a puff of air, “sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

She took half a step back and looked into his face. He looked, well, he looked rough. His chiseled jaw had scruff that was too thick to be called five o’clock shadow, and his hair looked like he had been running his hands through it repeatedly. Under his glasses, she could make out dark circles, as if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep. He was frowning down at her and she resisted the urge to apologize again.

She wondered why he looked so out of sorts. Maybe there was something going on at home? Or maybe it was something to do with the DMLE? She tried to remember if she had seen any headlines about the Department recently.

She was slightly gratified that he looked a little rough around the edges because she was sure she looked out of sorts herself. She had foregone washing her hair that morning, instead throwing it up in a bun. She hadn’t put on concealer or foundation and was sure her dark circles matched his. She was wearing clothes that, while still work appropriate, were perhaps too casual for potentially meeting the Chief Mage or the King of the Goblins.

Harry was staring at her with something she couldn’t quite identify. She was sure it must be a flavor of disappointment, afterall she would also be representing Wizard kind and was dressed something close to frumpy.

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have stood so close to the door, my fault.” Harry offered her a small smile and Hermione returned it without thought.

She bit down on her lip and took another step back. Why was Nagnok taking so long to leave the workroom? The longer she was alone with Harry, the more opportunities to embarrass herself.

“I hear we’re diplomatic envoys,” Harry said.

Hermione laughed. “Well, had I known, I would have broken out my finery,” she joked, desperate to keep him smiling, forgetting the reserve she had used as an armour the past week in a heartbeat. This is why she needed a full day to steele herself to be in Harry’s presence. If she didn’t build herself up, she just crumbled like a house made of sand.

His smile stretched further, becoming less tentative. “You look,” his voice was raspy, he cleared his throat and took half a step closer to her, “you look lovely.”

“Oh,” Hermione looked down and blushed, “thank you.” Her stomach was a flutter and she could swear she felt warmth where his eyes lingered.

The silence lingered for a second. The click of the workroom door closing behind Nagnok broke it abruptly. 

“Off we go. We will floo to Gringotts and use that entrance to the King’s Guildhall.” Nagnok’s tone was all business and it helped her gather her wits.

The trio made their way to the public Ministry floos and before she knew it, they were standing in the private floo entrance to Gringotts.

She landed less than gracefully, but Harry was there to steady her with a hand on her elbow. She shot him a grateful look and he smiled down at her softly. Her stomach flipped and for a second she let herself think that _maybe…_

Her train of thought was cut off by the sound of a nearby door slamming shut, and she jumped, surprised.

A female Goblin, dressed in a sharp set of robes with gold epaulets decorating the shoulders of the garment, strode purposefully into the room. She was followed closely by two male Goblins in what looked like old-fashioned military regalia. The female Goblin was definitely in charge of whatever was about to happen.

She gave Nagnok a sharp nod and sketched a bow at Harry. He returned the bow, dipping down deep. It was obvious the others had all met before and no verbal greetings were exchanged. Hermione stood there, slightly befuddled at what was happening.

The female Goblin turned to Hermione and offered a hand. Hermione took it with a firm grip. The Goblin’s hands were calloused from hard use. This was not a creature to be trifled with. The Goblin gave her an appraising look and tightened her hand. Hermione repressed a flinch. She didn’t think a show of weakness so early on would go over well with this war-like creature.

“Miss Granger. Lovely to meet you. I’m Filkor of the Warfire Guild, head of the Goblin Guard.”

Hermione tried to recall if she had ever read any books about Goblin culture or etiquette. She hadn't, so she fell back on her human manners. “Lovely to meet you Filkor. I understand we’ll be going to a Goblin sacred site?”

“Yes, the glass artifacts are stored in the Chief Mage’s library. We will escort you to the Goldforge Guildhall, the residence of the King and where the library of artifacts resides.”

Hermione belatedly wondered if she should have curtsied. Harry had bowed. Too late now, so she forged on ahead. “Lovely, thank you for the escort.”

Filkor nodded and ushered them out of the floo room and down a long hall. Hermione had never spent much time in Gringotts. She had set up an account at 11 on her first trip to Diagon Alley. She now visited once every other month or so to withdraw or convert galleons to pounds or vice versa. But that was it. 

The non-public areas of Gringotts were places that Hermione had never even thought of. As they walked down the long hallway they passed open doors where Goblins and humans worked together. One of the open doors they passed led to a room where a team of Goblins were sorting through huge piles of sickles. Another doorway provided Hermione a glance at what must have been an accountant. An older looking Goblin was chugging away at what looked like a rudimentary calculator while pouring over the longest piece of parchment Hermione had ever seen.

Soon the group had reached a bank of lifts. Filkor ran a slender finger down what looked like a plain brick next to the elevators. A door dinged and opened, and Filkor ushered them into the lift. They stood in silence. Hermione had a million questions, but truth be told, she was intimidated by Filkor. The last thing she wanted to do was cause some sort of interspecies international incident on accident.

The lift stopped abruptly and its doors opened with almost no noise. The group stepped out. To Hermione’s shock they didn’t step out into another hallway, but rather into a meadow, lit by something that looked like the sun, but was strangely slightly dimmer. 

Her first thought was that they were somewhere that had an enchanted ceiling, like the Great Hall at Hogwarts. But that wasn’t quite right either. The meadow stretched as far as she could see, and there was no discernable ceiling. It was like they had stepped off the elevator into the outdoors. The air was clean and crisp and smelled of pine trees. But there was something niggling at Hermione that told her that something was not right, something was off and slightly foreign. It was an uncanny valley version of the outdoors.

The lifts were at the end of a cobblestone road. In the distance, Hermione could see a series of imposing buildings that all had signs that to denote their differing purposes. The building closest had a sign of gold with a hammer and anvil carved into it. Past that she could see signs in silver, copper, wood, and what could have been gems. THey began to make their way down the road, towards the building.

The buildings themselves looked like carbon copies of Gringotts from the outside. There were also smaller structures interspersed between the taller buildings. They looked like they might have been a mix of residences and other businesses. There was one that looked to be some sort of bookstore from the display of tomes right outside the door. Hermione’s fingers itched, eager to see what kinds of books they might be selling at a Goblin bookstore.

Hermione’s pace must have slowed too much because of all her gawking because Harry was suddenly right behind her. His hand went to her lower back, urging her on. She met his eyes, embarrassed she was caught goggling the sites and he gave her a small smile, one of another person sharing strange circumstances..

She tried to return the smile, but she knew it didn’t fully reach her eyes. She forced herself to remember her refrain of _not mine, practically engaged, I’m just an employee_ repeated over and over. But it was hard when his hand was resting just above her bum.

They caught up with Nagnok, Filkor, and her men at the double doors of the Guildhall with the gold sign. Harry removed his hand and she resisted the urge to grab his hand. The doors were at least four times her height and were decorated with what looked like galleons inlaid in the wood. They glimmered in the unnatural sunlight.

Filkor knocked three times on the doors and they swung open slowly to reveal a huge room with long tables lining the walls.

The chamber was awe inspiring. High ceilings were adorned by gold filigree and elaborate crystal chandeliers. It made Hogwarts Great Hall look pedestrian by comparison. The walls were covered in intricate murals depicting Goblins working with gold and magic. The parts of the mural that were gold seemed to be made of actual gold that had been inset into the walls.

Filkor set a fast pace and Hermione did not have time to stare, though she did her best to take everything in and keep up with the Golin at the same time.

The long tables were filled with artisans making all sorts of gold work. On one table galleons were being engraved in an assembly line process that went all the way from a forge in a corner of the room and finishing in a cart of new galleons at the end of the table. 

Another table had a young Goblin who was holding a spool of thin gold wire. He was slowly handing the wire to an older Goblin who was weaving the gold into a fine mesh. The mesh glimmered with the light of the chandeliers and the magic that the Goblin was feeding into it. Right by the door through which they had entered, there was a female Goblin securing gems in a gold necklace that Hermione could only describe as gaudy. 

Some of the Goblins who were less engrossed in their work gave them curious looks, but for the most part the humans went unnoticed.

The group quickly made their way to the back of the hall, towards a nondescript wooden door. Filkor opened the door and ushered the humans in.

They stepped into a sumptuous library. The center of the room had furniture that looked slightly too small to be made for humans. There were built in bookshelves that went to the ceiling. There were plinths scattered throughout the floor space. On each plinth was an object encased in glass. Hermione could see that the objects closest to her looked to be the sort of craft done by Goblins, and all glimmered with magic. 

It was reminiscent of a museum and Hermione wanted to just have time to look around.

Without thinking, she had stopped in front of a plinth that had a beautiful glass goblet. The goblet had runes carved around the base and stem, and along the rim of the cup. The runes were different than those on the box held back at the Ministry. But what caught Hermione’s eye was that the glass was thin and the runes were skilfully carved, the sort of impeccable craftsmanship that she had become familiar with after long hours pouring over photos of the box. 

The return of Harry’s hand on her lower back got her attention. The touch brought Hermione crashing back to her body and she jerked slightly at the electricity that it brought to her skin. She quickly turned and looked at Harry, who gestured towards Filkor with a tilt of his head. She shot Harry a grateful look and focused on the Goblin.

Filkor was standing next to one of the plush-Goblin sized chairs. In the chair was a male Goblin who was sitting in the armchair like it was a throne. 

Nagnok bowed so low to the ground, his nose touched the floor. Harry bowed, though not as deeply. Hermione would have attempted a curtsey, but she had no idea how to curtsey, so she settled for a deep nod and a curious look.

The Goblin in the chair raised an eyebrow at her. “Hermione Granger,” he said, his voice was deeper than she would have expected. “I’m King Ragnok. Welcome to the Goblin Realm. We’ve been waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like an idea about how the Harry in this fic looks in my head, check out blvnk’s Harry. Also just all her work because it’s excellent.
> 
> Also: Updates might come slower because I am now officially out of pre-written material and have real work to do (I'm in my final semester of grad school and have obligations and whatnot), but I aim for it to be consistent at once a week. I want to be sure I'm happy with what I'm putting out, so I won't put out a new chapter just to have a new chapter out. You all as readers deserve better than that, and doing that would only make me unhappy. If the pace is to change I'll let you know!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione learn more about Goblin glass and have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was slightly delayed because their conversation took three rewrites to feel right. Again, thank you to everyone who commented! Thank you also to all the people who read/kudos'd/subscribed!

**AUGUST 13, 2008**

Hermione really should have learned to curtsey at some point in her life. 

It felt appropriate to curtsey after being addressed by bloody royalty, but she was sure that if she attempted it, she would tip over. So instead she just stood in front of the King of the Goblins, feeling deeply out of place.

“I’m sorry?” Her voice was slightly higher than usual. She fervently hoped no one noticed.

King Ragnok carried an air of royalty about him that made the armchair he was sitting in seem like a throne. Filkor was playing sentry to his right, and to his left Fleur Delacour was giving Hermione an interested look. 

Hermione was vaguely surprised to see Fleur, though she probably shouldn’t have been, given that Fleur had represented the Goblins in the meeting with the Ministry.

“Miss Granger,” said King Ragnok, quirking an eyebrow at her, seemingly amused at her discomfort. “We have heard great things about you from our brother Nagnok. We had hoped to work with you more closely. We would have liked to have you do the research and experimentation here in the Goblin Realm, however the Ministry refused to release the box or give us access to the Ledger.”

Hermione hadn’t known that the Goblins had wanted to lead the research effort. There were obviously politics at play here that Hermione was not aware of. She tried to remember what she had learned about the Goblin-wizard relations. She remembered that the last Goblin-wizard treaty had been ratified sometime in the late 1600’s, so the last Rebellion must have been right before that. That would have been when the Wizard’s Council was around. She wondered if the Goblins might have information about the Wizard’s Council that her team would be interested in, but she bit her tongue. The last thing she wanted was to inadvertently offend the King of the Goblins or be caught in a turf war between the Goblins and the Ministry, so she chose to say nothing, and instead shot a confused look at Harry.

Unfortunately from the schooled blank look on Harry’s face, he didn’t have any answers to give her either.

“I’m...sorry?” Hermione felt a little bit like she was stuck in repeat. She had never read about Goblin royalty protocol. She mentally added another book to her ever growing list. 

King Ragnok gave her a smile that was more sharp than kind. “Well, we have been pleased Nagnok has kept us updated on the status of the efforts. We have made some discoveries ourselves as well.” 

“Yes,” she cut her eyes to Nagnok who was examining a nearby plinth, seemingly disinterested in the conversation playing out between his King and Hermione. “Nagnok said you had found some similar artifacts?” 

“We have. We brought up our glass collection from the vaults, and it is on display here now. I saw the Grail of Artorius caught your eye. It is the oldest example of Goblin-made glass that survives today.”

“It looks like it was made by the same method the box was made.” Hermione observed.

“Yes, Nagnok thought so as well. He came to us asking to see any glass artifacts that we had, and the Grail convinced him that the glass of the box was Goblin in origin.”

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. “Can you, or can anyone really, tell me about the manufacturing of Goblin glass, or its magical properties?”

King Ragnok shook his head regretfully. “There is but one remaining member of the Cutglass Guild. He was but a babe when the Cutglass Guild merged with the Goldforge Guild. We retain no records of how the glass was manufactured, it was an art lost to us many centuries ago. But we can tell you some about the magical properties of the glass.”

“Please.” Hermione looked down and reached into the small bag she brought with her. “May I take notes?”

“Of course” said King Ragnok, gesturing to proceed with a regal waive of his hand.

“Goblin glass,” he said and steepled his fingers in front of him, “is near indestructible, despite how delicate it looks. As I said, the exact method of creation is lost to us, but we know it was a multi-step process that involved a combination of spellcasting, runes, and a fundamental magic.”

“Sorry,” said Hermione, hand moving furiously over the paper, trying to keep up with all the information coming at her. “By fundamental magic, does that mean the same for Goblin magics as it does for wizards? Blood, sex, or death magic?”

“Yes,” said the Goblin, “precisely. The combination of those three magics creates glass that is resistant to physical and magical attempts at destruction. Goblin glass may be enchanted and warded. To make those enchantments and wards stick to the glass they need to be made of a combination of magics as well. Most common are combination spell and rune wards, but those tend to be the weaker wards.”

“So,” said Hermione, making eye contact with the King, “would Your Majesty hypothesize then that given the strength of the ward attached to the box, that it is not a spell-rune ward?”

“That is our conclusion, yes. We assume then that it is a ward built on a combination of fundamental magic and either spell or rune.”

“Which would mean,” said Hermione, getting caught up in the puzzle, “that to break the ward and remedy the damage it caused, our ward-breaker would need to also be a combination of fundamental magic and either spell or runes? Normally a multi-prong ward needs a multi-prong ward breaker.”

King Ragnok nodded, pleased she had figured it out. “That is our conclusion, yes. Given the intricate rune work on the box, our assumption is that the ward was made with a combination of runes and fundamental magic. The type of fundamental magic is still in question though.” The King paused and his eyes flicked from her face to her wrist. “We heard that the box had a...reaction to you. May we see the mark it left?”

“Of course,” Hermione tucked her notebook under her arm and stuck her pen in her hair. She took a few steps towards King Ragnok until she was within reach. She held out her right arm for him to examine.

King Ragnok leaned over her arm, and, much as Nagnok had, traced a long spindly finger over the silver line. She briefly glanced back to Harry, who was watching the proceeding with a sharp look on his face.

“Well Miss Granger,” said the Goblin King, straightening, “it would seem that whatever fundamental magic the ward is built on likes you.”

“Likes?” Said Hermione skeptically. “I mean, it certainly had a reaction.”

“And one that didn’t kill you, despite the fact that it almost killed the others who dared approach it.” King Ragnok matched her gaze, eyes certain. “I would suggest that you need to be  _ intimately  _ involved in the ward breaking.”

Hermione was alarmed by that suggestion “Intimately? If this ward is based on death magic that would mean I would have to die for the ward to break.”

“Absolutely not.” Harry broke in, voice hard. His eyes flashed with anger and his mouth was downturned, obviously unhappy with the suggestion.

“Your Majesty,” said Nagnok, “I must agree with His Grace. Miss Granger is an excellent researcher, alchemist, and cursebreaker. I would hate to have to get someone else up to speed on this project.”

Well, at least she was of some use outside of a potential sacrifice, she thought wryly.

“Well, it is entirely possible that the ward is based on blood magic or sex magic,” said Fleur. “The utilization of those fundamental magics in ward breaking would not require the death of Miss Granger.”

That was good. The possibility of this project not resulting in her death was definitely something Hermione was hoping for.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to test,” said Nagnok, looking thoughtful. “Sex magic can be done alone as well as partnered.”

Hermione blushed a dull red, but tried to think through the problem logically. “Given the negative reaction of the ward to others, I would say that if the ward breaking called for sex magic then that would be an endeavor I would take on by myself.”

She retrieved her notebook and consulted the notes she had compiled about the progress that had been made trying to develop break the ward. “Nagnok, do you think if we add the fundamental magic to the end of the rune chain we’ve developed…?” she trailed off, obviously deep in thought.

Nagnok had moved closer to Hermione and was peering at her notes as well “That would provide both the most stability and the most power, yes.” He pointed to a notation they had made two days ago. “It would also explain why the wand movements we were attempting to develop never quite worked.”

Hermione made a note of the new information quickly, and then looked up at King Ragnok. “Your Majesty, I just have a few more questions. Nagnok mentioned that there was a remaining member of the Cutglass Guild. I know our historian would be interested in speaking with him. Might we arrange a meeting?”

King Ragnok and Nagnok exchanged a look that Hermione could not read. “Yes,” said the King after a moment of hesitation. “We can call him here in a few hours. We will send for Lord Malfoy.“

The King nodded at Fleur who left his side and went through the door Hermione had come through.

There was no question apparently that Malfoy would drop whatever he was doing to come to the Goblin Realm. To be fair, Hermione thought, she was sure he would. Being invited to the Goblin Realm was a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

Hermione glanced around the room, eyes catching the Grail again. She pressed her lips together, contemplating how to ask her next question. She knew that it was the Wizard’s Council who had ratified the last treaty with the Goblins, so it seemed likely that they would have documents related to the Council. But the last thing she wanted to do was offend her hosts.

“Has the Goblin Kingdom had any...interaction with the Wizards Council?” She asked.

“Yes. Nagnok mentioned that our interactions with the Council might be of some interest to you. We signed our last treaty with them. As a result of their disbandment we have been unable to alter or revoke the treaty without causing war.”

“Do you think that there are any documents relating to the Wizard’s Council? Or more specifically the High King? The epic poem found alongside the box made mention of him.”

The Goblin King’s gaze was examining Hermione so closely that she had to resist the urge to squirm. “We might have such documents. We will consult with our historians and let you know if they exist and if they are available for viewing.” King Ragnok nodded at Nagnok who trotted out the door.

“Is there anything else that we might help you with?”

Hermione once again glanced at the Grail. “Would there be any way that I could examine some of the glass pieces up close?”

King Ragnok nodded and waved his hand. The glass encasing all of the plinths dropped, leaving the artifacts exposed to air and available for Hermione to examine in much more detail. “Please, go ahead. We have business to attend to, but will return with Lord Malfoy and the remaining member of the Cutglass Guild in awhile.”

The King rose from his armchair. Hermione watched Harry out of the corner of her eye to see if he bowed or made some sort of gesture that she should mimic. Harry just nodded at the King, mouth still turned down in a frown. Hermione copied the gesture and watched as King Ragnok left the room, with Filkor following him closely, leaving Harry and her alone with the artifacts.

* * *

Harry was not having a good week, he thought as his eyes followed Hermione as she made a beeline for the item King Ragnok had called the Grail of Artorius. Her steps were quick and had a certain grace about them. She had stashed her notebook and pen back in her bag and was obviously eager to examine the object more closely.

He clenched his fist, trying to gain control for a second.

Part of his problem was professional. 

It had been one fire after another at the Ministry. There had been an Auror under investigation for taking bribes from a Knockturn Alley apothecary. So he had been having to not only deal with bringing a case against one of his own men, but he also had to begin to formulate a strategy for dealing with the inevitable fall out of this case. He was also suspicious, he was new in the role of DMLE still, but even he could see that there was something larger at play. 

Sir Avery and Thicknesse were still trying to bring down his House Elf Rights bill and Sirius was having trouble holding together his coalition, so Harry had been called in to help shmooze and win over Wizengamot members. A task made more difficult because the bill could not be voted on until the Ledger was fixed.

Plus, members of the Wizengamot had been making a fuss about not being able to vote and were threatening to go to the press about it. So he also had to have meeting after meeting to finesse, threaten, cajole, or convince each Wizengamot member to keep their mouths shut. The last thing everyone needed was an unhappy member telling tales out of school and destabilizing the government entirely. 

The personal aspect of the problem had been more painful. 

Hermione had been avoiding him. He knew Sirius was right and he should have pulled her aside the very next day and done something about it, talked about magical compatibility, asked her out on a date, asked to court her,  _ something _ .

But she had been so abrupt and cold to him the next day and all last week. That made him think that he might have been wrong about their compatibility. He still felt a pull to her, and sometimes he thought he saw a flash of something in her gaze, but he also saw how stiffly she held herself in their meetings and how she would practically run out of his office when they were over. 

Maybe he had just put something on her that wasn’t there. Forcing a woman into a conversation about his romantic interest in her, someone who obviously wasn’t interested, a woman who worked for him, would be wildly inappropriate. So he sat on it. It didn’t do him any good, and Sirius had sent a series of increasingly irritated owls about it. He knew he was an adult, and should just communicate, but he also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or embarrass himself.

Despite both Draco and his father’s insistence that he should tell Hermione about the potential for magical compatibility, he hadn’t been able to. 

He would have liked to blame a whole host of reasons, but truth be told, he was scared. 

As Draco had pointed out, he had never really had a serious relationship before, and he had certainly never had to deal with whatever this was. If he fucked this up now he could lose the chance at a beautiful, magical connection with a woman who was brilliant, thoughtful, and gorgeous. But, one week into his indecision he realized that not making a choice was a choice in and of itself.

For someone who had defeated the Lord Voldemort and was the Master of Death, his courage seemed to have fled him at this occasion.

And now here he was, in the Goblin Realm with Hermione, having just discussed the possibility that she may be so connected to that damned box back at the Ministry that it could cost her her very life. The thought alone made his chest ache and his stomach turn.

He had to say something. They were alone and he had dallied too long already. Even if she didn’t feel anything, he had to find out for certain. This limbo wasn’t healthy for either of them.

He took a deep breath and made his way so that he was standing behind Hermione. Close enough to smell the scent of rose that was her shampoo, but far enough away so that she wouldn’t feel cornered. He cast a privacy charm around them just in case they were not as alone as it appeared.

“Hermione?” His voice was hesitant. She couldn’t flee from him here like she had been doing all week after their meetings, but the thought of making her uncomfortable made him uneasy.

She turned around so quickly she almost fell. His hand shot out to catch her bare wrist, steadying her. He felt her soft skin under his fingertips and tried to resist the urge to pet her. He could see the note of surprise in her face. She had obviously been caught up in examining the Grail and hadn’t heard his approach.

He took another breath to steady himself and began.

* * *

“Yes?” Hermione asked, giving him her full attention.

He had surprised her. In part because he had gotten so close and she had been so focused on the Grail she hadn’t noticed, but also because he sounded so uncertain, which was not a tone she had heard from him before.

She looked into his face, he had the same disappointed look that she had seen on him after their last few meetings. She tried to gather her wits about her, only to find that they all had fled. Instead she gripped her hands together tightly in an effort to physically hold herself together.

His hand was still on her wrist and she couldn’t bring herself to shake him off. His fingertips pressed into her pulse point, not uncomfortable, but secure.

“I’ve noticed...Have you noticed…” He trailed off. Noticed what? She involuntarily shifted and his grip on her wrist tightened slightly. Lightning shot up from where their skin touched to run up her spine and settle on the base of her skull in a warm hum. Her eyes shifted to her wrist and then back up to his face and she watched as his gaze made the same path.

“Did you feel that?” His voice was tight and low and he looked at her with an urgency that was foreign to her.

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She knew what he meant. 

Hesitating for a minute she weighed her options, the information Quince had provided weighing on her mind. She didn’t think Harry would steal her magic or take advantage of her. Quince had said that Magic only blessed the  _ worthy _ with magical compatibility, whatever that meant.

Her initial impulse was to deny everything. A lifetime of romantic disappointment urged her to protect herself, and the echo of her mantra  _ not mine _ floated through her brain. But the pull was too powerful. And if he felt it too, then maybe…?

“Yes.” Her voice was soft but certain.

“Do you know what it is?” He asked, that same urgency still visible in his face.

“Quince told me that it might be...magical compatibility?” She swallowed hard, trying to gather up her professional academic front again. She hadn’t been this timid in at least a decade, and she was unhappy that she had fallen back on such weakness.

“Yes. I think so too.”

Hermione was silent for a minute, examining Harry. She might as well lay her cards on the table. If she embarrassed herself, it wouldn’t be the first time. Might as well go for it and get her answers now rather than torture herself for the next two and a half months or so.

“Aren’t you in a relationship though?” SHe asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

His brow furrowed in confusion. “No? Oh.” A look of recognition flitted across his face briefly. “Do you mean Cho?”

She nodded. “I don’t want to—I can’t be the other woman.”

“You wouldn’t be,” he said quickly. “I went on  _ one _ date, and she accompanied me to  _ one _ charity event. We’re not even friends.”

She let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, relieved. He wasn’t with Cho. Thank Merlin. She felt the knot under her breast bone ease for the first time in a week. Not Cho’s. Not some sick repeat of what happened with Cormac McLaggen in her sixth year.

“So…” She stopped, wondering what she should say next. She had been so certain that he hadn’t felt anything, that he had been Cho’s and unavailable to her, that she was unprepared to deal with the alternative. She frowned thoughtfully. “So what do you want from this?”

He shifted on his feet and moved his thumb in a small circle over the inside of her wrist. It made her stomach flip.

“I was—I know I’m your boss right now, but I—” he exhaled sharply. “Do you want to come over to dinner? At my family’s home? I mean—also with me, alone, in the future—the near future—but Sirius has been bugging me to have you over.”

“Dinner?” She gave a small smile at how nervous he seemed, but the topic had changed so quickly she had whiplash.

“Yes. I know last time my dad was busy and had to cancel, but he’s back from Rome now, and he and Remus would love to have you over. Would love to meet you.”

“Oh. I had thought—you cancelled, and so I thought…” She trailed off, uncertain, biting her lip.

“You thought I didn’t want you there.” His voice was flat.

“Yes.” Her answer was short, and she looked away from him briefly remembering the pain she had felt at the perceived rejection.

Harry ran his free hand through his hair, making it look deliciously disheveled. “I’ve cocked this up, haven’t I?” HIs expression was rueful. 

Hermione met his eyes and her mouth curved up in a pleased smile, surprised. “I think it was a mutual cock up. I didn’t ask—didn’t say anything either.”

“I didn’t want to pressure or upset you.” Harry said earnestly. “And didn’t want you to think that I wanted you for some nefarious purpose.”

She was quick to reassure him. “I never thought that. I just thought you didn’t feel anything. That you weren’t interested. That the—the  _ pull _ was one sided.”

“The opposite. Very interested. Too interested.” Harry was blushing and she imagined that its intensity matched her own. For a woman in her late-twenties, she felt very much as she had when she was 12 and had her first crush. There was that same mix of desire, embarrassment, affection, and confusion. It was a relief that he was as thrown by whatever this was as she was.

Hermione laughed, she felt light. She brought her free hand to his chest in an effort to get him to stop babbling, though she found it charming.

“I would love to come to dinner then.”

“Good. Excellent. Dad and Remus will be pleased. I will be—I mean—I am too. Pleased, that is.”

“Good.” She placed her free hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his robes. 

He didn’t let her wrist go. Instead he slid his hand down and laced his fingers through hers. 

Harry looked down at her, eyes intense. “So, magical compatibility. Do you have any questions? You said Quince told you about it.”

“At first I thought it was a really intense crush. Once we touched, I knew it was  _ more _ . But then I heard about Cho, and I thought I could ignore it. I couldn’t though. Quince noticed I was distracted and asked me about my...symptoms.”

“I’m sorry I didn't say anything earlier.” His expression looked vaguely pained and entirely regretful. “I was going to, but I wanted to find some resources for you first, to help explain. Then you practically ran away after all our meetings, and it seemed like you didn’t want to spend any time with me, so I thought I might be wrong.”

Harry covered her hand on his chest with his free hand. The warmth of his skin soothed her and made her lean into him.

Harry took a deep breath. “But also I was...afraid. You seemed like the answer to a wish I didn’t know I had made. And for all my other hardships and accomplishments, I’ve never had someone not want me.” He looked chagrined at that admission, and it made Hermione smile. “So I was scared, that you’d say no, and that I’d be this heartbroken fool.”

“I was also afraid,” Hermione admitted. She bit her lip to try to compose herself for a second, thinking of how to explain what she had felt. “Cho and I, we have a history—a bad one. And when I heard about the two of you, it brought that up, and it was painful. Being at the Ministry has been hard for me. By the time I left Hogwarts I was just ignoring everyone and everything, keeping my head down to survive. I left Great Britain because I had been beaten down so much. I thought I had grown out of that timidity in France, that I was a confident academic. But being back, around the people who bullied me, has thrown me off. So when I heard about you and Cho, I just fell back into my pattern of avoidance.”

Harry pulled her in close to him and dropped a kiss on her crown. “Thank you for telling me. I should have said something, and I’m sorry you had to spend a week thinking I didn’t want you.”

Hermione nuzzled into his chest and untwined her hands from his, instead wrapping them around his middle. As his arms settled around her shoulders, all she could think was that he felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments are my love language!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More is learned from the Goblins and Hermione tries to have a conversation with her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you ever so much to everyone who reads/kudos'/subscribes, and my real heartfelt thanks to everyone who reviews. I absolutely love feedback.
> 
> I haven't mentioned before, but this is un-beta'd. So all mistakes are very much mine. (If you are interested in being a beta, please let me know. I am flying blind here. I would also be happy to return the favor.)

**AUGUST 13, 2008**

Harry and Hermione’s moment together was short lived. 

After a minute, the door to the room opened back up. Hermione pulled herself reluctantly out of Harry’s grasp and he dispersed his privacy charms with a wave of his wand. 

She had a level of professionalism to maintain after all. One that might be damaged were anyone to see her melt into the arms of her boss. 

Or at least that’s what she tried to convince herself as she felt a chill caused by Harry’s distance creep over her. 

Nagnok slipped through the door, carrying a box of scrolls. His eyes shifted between Harry and Hermione. A small smile tucked into the corners of his mouth as he approached. 

“His Majesty wanted me to bring you these documents while we wait for Lord Malfoy. These are the scrolls regarding the Realm’s interactions with the Wizard’s Council. They are said to contain observations about the Council and notes on the way that humans might be persuaded to favor the Goblin agenda.”

Hermione’s eyes went round. This was a magnificent find. If the epic poem was related to the glass box, such in depth information about the Wizard’s Council would be very valuable. Though she had a sneaking suspicion that the ‘notes about how humans might be persuaded’ was code for blackmail material.

Harry reached out and took the box from Nagnok. Hermione gestured that he should set it down on a low table by the armchair King Ragnok had vacated. Nagnok made sure they were situated before leaving them alone again.

Hermione immediately dived in. She cross-legged sat on the ground in order to better spread out the documents, as there were no tables of an appropriate length. She thought for a second about asking for use of one of the long tables in the guildhall but thought better of it. She didn’t want to stretch their welcome. And besides, after their conversation, being alone with Harry was no longer the trial it had been just that morning. She liked having him to herself.

Harry sat down on the floor next to her, close enough so that her knee brushed against his leg. The contact sent a pleasant jolt to her lower stomach, and she saw Harry’s hand tighten around one of the scrolls he had grabbed. It was gratifying that he was just as much affected by the compatibility as she was.

An idle thought crossed her mind as she organized the scrolls by date. She wondered what sort of reaction she could cause in Harry with something more than an innocent accidental touch. A blush creeped up her collarbone and she forcefully put the thought out of her head. Professionalism, she told herself, focusing her attention on the scrolls. 

It wasn’t hard to be distracted by the documents. The oldest date she saw was 1515, and the most recent date she saw was 1685. They were remarkably well preserved, better than documents of a similar age she had seen preserved by spell, perhaps a potion then. She stored the thought away to ask Nagnok at a later date.

She started with the oldest documents. 

Hermione unrolled the old scroll with gentle hands. She was surprised she was able to read them. She had assumed they would be written in Gobbledegook, the Goblin language, but instead they were written in English. The writing was a little archaic, but it was still understandable.

Her eyes flew across the document and her eyebrows shot up.

She struck gold with the first scroll. 

“Look! The High King!” Hermione exclaimed, shoving the scroll under Harry’s nose in her excitement.

“It says here that the High King was the head of the Wizard’s Council and _also_ served as the overseer to the Wizengamot. It mentions the Chief Mugwump too, so the positions must have had different responsibilities. I wonder if after the end of the High Kings the Chief Mugwump assumed those possibilities. Maybe if we could find information about what power the High King held over the Wizengamot, that might provide information about the Ledger...” She was rambling, mostly talking to herself as she jotted down notes with intense speed. 

“Yes, it certainly seems that way,” said Harry as he examined the document she had handed him closely, amused at her antics.

She made a grabby motion with her free hand, head still bent over her notebook. Harry handed the scroll back with a grin. He picked up another document and began helping her comb through the research, conjuring parchment, and to her surprise, a pen, to take down his own notes.

Hermione worked in silence through a half dozen of the scrolls, and Heery got through four. She was still hunched over ancient parchment when she heard the door to the room open again. Not to be distracted from her task, she waited to see who had entered until she finished her notes on the parchment in her hand.

When she looked up a minute later Draco Malfoy had made himself comfortable on one of the armchairs, looking as aristocratic as King Ragnok had.

The only thing that broke his cultivated nonchalance was the hungry look in his eye as he gazed at the pile of scrolls in front of Hermione.

“Draco,” Harry’s voice was dry and amused. “So nice of you to join us.”

“Well,” Malfoy drawled, eyes still locked on the ancient parchment, “I received a personal missive from the King of the Goblins. I could hardly refuse the invitation.”

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “Malfoy. Care to join me? These are scrolls that King Nagnok provided. They document the Goblin’s impressions and information on the Wizarding Council.”

Malfoy nearly leapt out of his chair to settle on the floor next to her. Harry and Hermione exchanged an amused look before resuming their review of the scrolls.

It was ten minutes before Malfoy made a discovery. The blond had been comparing two scrolls from approximately 5 years apart when he made a surprised noise in the back of his throat.

Both Harry and Hermione looked at him curiously as Malfoy’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two sources.

“Did you know…” Malfoy started slowly, still squinting at the scrolls. “That the position of High King wasn’t hereditary?”

Hermione looked at him, confused. “I thought that monarchy...But all the other nobility titles are?”

Harry leaned over to try to get a look at the scrolls in Malfoy’s hands. His movement made him lean close to Hermione and she forcefully tried to restrain her physical reaction to his nearness.

“I’ve never heard about a non-hereditary nobility title in the magical world. I always learned that magical titles once belonged to Knights of the Round Table, and we are descended from those Knights,” said Harry

Malfoy was still examining the parchments, and nodded absently. “Yes, that’s what I learned as well. But this scroll,” Malfoy held up the one in his right hand, “says that at the death of the High King, there was no one in the line of succession, and that the Wizard’s Council operated without a High King for five years.

“And this scroll,” Malfoy held up the other one, “ discusses that the new High King was ‘chosen’ and that a coronation followed. The surnames of the Kings are both completely different, and it notes that the Goblins did not know exactly how the ‘choosing’ of the High King occured.”

Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose, thinking deeply. “Could it be possible that the Wizard’s Council elected the new High King?”

Malfoy hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. But why would that process be secretive? The scroll mentions that the High King was ‘chosen by Magic,’ but the exact process is unclear. The Goblins speculated that it was through some sort of ritual that took a long time to set up, hence the 5 year gap between the High Kings.”

“Could whatever is in the box then, be related to that ritual?” Harry was still trying to get a look at the scrolls in Malfoy’s hands, and Hermione shifted back subtly trying to give Harry more space. She only succeeded in accidentally brushing up against him.

“Maybe?” Hermione shut her eyes, trying to think. “The poem’s focus was about the ‘True Crown.’ The poem said that the Crown came to the worthiest among them. The High King mentioned in the poem had defeated dark wizards and was therefore deemed worthy. I know it’s from a different period than these scrolls, but could the ritual be tied to that somehow?”

Harry looked at Hermione, “so could that True Crown mentioned in the poem be in the box? If what is in the box relates to the poem it would either be that or the bones of that High King?”

“Seems plausible,” said Hermione. She bit her lip thoughtfully. “I don’t think that a whole skeleton would fit in that box. So a crown would make sense.”

“Okay.” Hermione set down the scroll she was done with and picked up another. “Let’s see if we can get through with the rest of the scrolls before they bring in the Cutglass Guild Goblin for us to speak with.”

The trio worked in silence. It took them a full four more hours of reading to get through the rest of the scrolls. 

Hermione finished scribbling down her last notes and observations, and then stretched, cracking her back after being hunched over for too long. Harry and Malfoy repacked the scrolls in the box they had come in with care.

They had just finished up when the door to the library opened again. 

Fleur entered the room first. She held open the door as Nagnok entered, escorting a Goblin whose age Hermione could not even begin to estimate. From the hunch in his back and the wrinkles crossing his expressive face, Hermione knew he must have been very old indeed.

Filrok came next, and King Ragnok entered last. The King made his way back to his armchair and sat while the three humans on the floor hastened to stand.

Hermione offered the King a deep nod, following Harry’s lead. Draco executed a perfect and elegant bow. 

Nagnok settled the old Goblin on a sofa and then took a seat on a nearby armchair himself. King Ragnok gestured for the trio of visitors to sit. This time they took up seats on proper furniture instead of the floor. Hermione and Harry sat on a loveseat, while Malfoy found an armchair near the old Goblin.

The loveseat was just small enough so that Hermione could feel the heat from Harry’s body. She resisted the urge to lean in to him. It was inconvenient that he was so close and so distracting, when this had the potential to be pivotal for their understanding of the artifact that resided back in the Ministry. Hermione tried to put his nearness out of her mind and focus.

King Ragnok addressed them. “This is Hurkol, one of the oldest living Goblins and the only remaining member of the Cutglass Guild.”

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, sir,” Hermione demurred, offering the old Goblin a small smile.

She turned to the King and gave a half bow from her seated position. “King Ragnok, we cannot possibly thank you enough,” said Hermione, erring on the side of formality. Though Harry was technically her boss, she was the lead researcher for this project, and therefore felt an obligation to ensure the Goblin’s continued cooperation with the project. “The scrolls that Nagnok let us look at were exceptionally helpful, and we are all eager to speak to Hurkol.”

King Ragnok nodded in acknowledgement. “We are glad the scrolls were of assistance. Can you share with us what you found?”

Hermione shot a look at Harry who nodded slightly. It would make sense to share, after all, the scrolls belonged to the Goblins anyways, and they probably had read them before handing them over. 

“Of course, Your Majesty. We found information that would indicate that the High King controlled both the Wizard’s Council and the Wizengamot in some capacity. It seems that the role was not hereditary, but was chosen some other way. Perhaps chosen through ritual involving the True Crown, which was mentioned in the epic poem found. We hypothesize that the crown may be what is in the warded box.”

The King nodded. She glanced around the room and saw that none of the Goblins looked surprised. “We reached that conclusion as well,” said King Ragnok.

Hermione resisted frowning at the King of the Goblins. It would have been faster if the Goblins had just told them about what conclusions they had reached were rather than force Harry Malfoy and herself to waste precious time to duplicate the same results. She shot a glance to Malfoy, and saw a frustrated look pass across his face, before he schooled his face into blank aristocratic disinterest.

She pressed her lips together and focused on the very old Goblin. She nodded at Malfoy, prompting him to take the lead.

“Sir,” said Malfoy, addressing Hurkol with a polite nod, “what can you tell us about your early life in the Cutglass Guild?”

Hurkol focused on Malfoy, and Hermione could tell from his eyes that the Goblin was at least partially blind.

“The Cutglass Guild of my youth was already in decline,” Hurkol’s voice was surprisingly deep and clear for his age. “My parents were master glass-makers, but they died before they could pass their skill on to me. By the time I was ready to adopt a trade, all the master glass-makers had died as well. I was told that the craft was so taxing that practitioners would frequently exhaust themselves magically, leaving them open to sickness and attack.”

Hermione was jotting down notes. A magically taxing creation process would probably mean a magically taxing destruction process as well. “We know that the process of making Goblin glass has been lost, but what can you remember about it?” She asked

“I remember watching the glass-makers as a child. Some of the glass was blown glass. I remember seeing the magic streaming from the lungs of the Goblins into the glass itself. It was a spectacular and magical sight. 

“Goblin glass was our most valuable product. It was used to seal alliances and to protect only the most precious of items. Goblin glass protects the magical founding charter of Hogwarts. Goblin glass protects the MACUSA Constitution. Goblin glass is what the protective wards around Gringotts are made of. We gifted Goblin glass to the centaurs to seal our eternal alliance with the herd. We sent Goblin glass to the New World to ensure we could establish a bank on that shore as well. There was an alliance between the Wizard’s Council through the High King and the Goblins, and we protected that with Goblin glass as well.”

“Hurkol, do you remember anything about the Wizard’s Council?” Draco asked, grey eyes focused on the Goblin.

Hurkol’s half-seeing eyes flicked around the room and settled on Harry. The old Goblin’s face took on a curious expression. “Child, you are of the Duke of Llŷr line, are you not?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “I’m Harry James Potter, the 49th the Duke of Llŷr.”

A vacant expression flicked over Hurkol’s face, as if he were lost in a memory recalling something told to him long ago. “You have that look about you. The legend was that one of the most precious pieces of Goblin Glass ever forged was entrusted to the first Duke of Llŷr. It was the piece that sealed out alliance with the High King and the Wizard’s Council. We have never sought its return, as we view it as belonging to the never-dying alliance rather than to an individual.”

Hurkol smiled slightly, focusing back on Harry. “I also knew your many-great grandfather. The last piece of Goblin glass ever made was gifted to him. Well it was gifted to the Wizard’s Council, but he accepted it on behalf of the body as a whole. In fact, that piece has been returned to us in the centuries since. You can see it right over there.” 

His spindly crooked finger pointed to the Grail. Hermione bit her lip, dying to ask what the purpose of the Grail had been, but she could tell that Hurlok was not done with his story.

After waiting a beat, Hurlok continued speaking. “The Goblins, and specifically, the Cutglass Guild was at one point closely allied with the High King and the Council. Back before the last rebellion and treaty, matters between our two peoples were good. Warm even. But after the death of the last High King and the end of my Guild in the late 1600s, there was a deterioration of that relationship.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you know what piece of glass was given to the first Duke of Llŷr?”

Hurlok peered at Hermione and she felt like his eyes were seeing straight through her. She resisted the urge to break his gaze. 

“No,” Hurlok finally said after an extended silence. “Just that it was made to guard an important item, entrusted to the Wizard’s Council by Magic.”

It could be the box in the Ministry, thought Hermione. She felt sharply the loss of knowledge and uncertainty that this conversation represented. If there was more information about the history of Goblin glass, or the Wizard’s Council then they would not be trying to ensure the continuation of the government by piecing together half-remembered legends from a Goblin who must be well over 300 years old.

“What can you tell us about the last High King?” Asked Malfoy, leaning forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees and both hands folded together in front of him.

Hurkol shrugged. “Not much. I only know that the last High King died before I was born. He was spoken of respectfully by every Goblin I knew. We expected there would be another, but none ever came.”

Hermione was engrossed in all the information they had just been told and did not see King Ragnok lever himself out of his armchair. She also didn’t feel Harry stand from the loveseat. She was completely lost in thought until Harry caught her attention by placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her head shot up, and she hastened to stand as well. 

“Your Grace, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, we will take our leave now. Nagnok and Fleur will see you out of the Realm.” King Ragnok, Hurlok and Filrok walked towards the door, their pace slowed by Hurlok’s shuffling pace. The group was a step away from the door when the King paused before the door out of the library. He turned with a dramatic swish of his robes to face the group again. 

His eyes caught Hermione’s and he gave her a smile that was not entirely friendly. “Miss Granger, I’m sure we will see you again.” With that rather dramatic pronouncement he left the humans and Nagnok alone in the room.

* * *

The journey out of the Goblin Realm and back to Gringotts went quickly as Hermione turned over the problem in her head, twisting it this way and that. The ward on the box could possibly be opened by a combination of runes and either her blood, her death, or sex. Breaking the ward would also allow them to stop the suffering of the poor Unspeakables in St. Mungo’s. The box was probably Goblin in origin and perhaps held a crown, but they still didn’t know how to open the box itself. They also still were not sure that opening the box would have any impact on the Ledger and the Wizengamot’s ability to pass laws. Though significant progress had been made in the short time she had been on the project, there were still significant unknowns. It was not comforting to her that one of the unknowns was if breaking the ward on the box would call for her death.

They were in the lobby of Gringotts, bidding goodbye to Nagnok, who was remaining behind on a personal errand, when Hermione turned to Malfoy with a thought. 

“Malfoy, do you know anything about the Ledger? Or maybe where we could find that information?”

The blond looked thoughtful. “Maybe. Some of the documents that you pulled from the Archive indicated that there was research conducted on the Ledger by a Hogwarts Headmaster back in the 1800s. Perhaps the notes are still at the school.”

Hermione nodded decisively. “We’ll have to go to Hogwarts then.” She tried to retrieve her notebook from her purse while still keeping pace with the long legs of Malfoy and Harry and almost tripped for her trouble. Harry caught her elbow and she felt that ever present spark travel from where he touched her to the base of her spine. She shot Harry a grateful look and righted herself. 

“It will have to be in two days. Because I’ll need tomorrow with Nagnok to work on breaking the ward, and the next day we’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s and see if the ward breaking also works on the injured Unspeakables.” She chose not to mention that if breaking the ward required her death that planning around her needs would be superfluous.

“I agree that _I_ have to go,” said Malfoy. “But I have no need of a chaperone.”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes and lost. “I would not be serving as a _chaperone_ Malfoy. I need to speak to Headmaster Dumbledore about Goblin glass and its use in alchemy. I also know that another pair of eyes when looking through documents is invaluable.”

“No need to make excuses to spend more time in my presence Granger.” Malfoy shot back with a smirk. Hermione’s face would be stuck in an vexed expression constantly if she had to spend more time with him and his nonsense. She caught Harry shooting Malfoy an exasperated look too.

“I’ll come as well,” said Harry abruptly. 

Hermione looked at him, confused, while Malfoy’s look at Harry was pure amusement.

“Oh really?” Malfoy drawled, leaning heavily on the second word.

Harry gave Malfoy an annoyed glare and Hermione could swear that he was blushing.

“Yes,” Harry’s voice was certain and firm. “I have to speak with Albus too. About...security for the school.”

Hermione was skeptical, especially given that hesitation that she read as a struggle to come up with an excuse. But she chose not to call him out on it. After all, she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. And he had said that he liked her. So if he wanted to make up an excuse to go to Hogwarts with her, she wasn’t about to stop him. She did hope that his work as head of the DMLE was not suffering, given his eagerness to accompany her on these field trips all over magical Britain.

“Well then. This will be quite the _rendez-vous_ then, won’t it?” Said Malfoy, arching an eyebrow at Harry. Hermione looked at Harry fast enough to see the man shoot Malfoy a rude hand gesture, and she stifled a laugh.

“Well since that’s all settled then,” said Hermione, ”I should head home.” They had managed to spend the entire day in the Goblin Realm. She had the fleeting thought that it hadn’t seemed like the full day, but perhaps time was different there. She dismissed the idea to her overflowing list of things to research later and bid Malfoy and Harry goodbye. Malfoy got a curt nod, which he returned, while Harry got a lingering look and a gentle hand on his forearm. Harry briefly covered her hand on his, and squeezed her gently.

Hermione walked out of the bank, into the warm evening air, thoughts still caught on the box back in the depths of the Ministry.

* * *

This was the earliest Hermione had returned home since she had started at the Ministry. It was only 7pm by the time she apparated to the alley near her apartment with a muffled pop.

The walk home was short, and though it was the hottest part of the summer, the evening a brought in a cool breeze so it was pleasant as well. 

By the time she got back to the apartment, she was happy to be home in time to hopefully catch her mother awake. What with Hermione’s erratic hours the past week, and Joyce’s shift back into a downswing in terms of mental health, they had been ships passing in the night. Hermione would leave before Joyce woke up, and would come back after she had gone to bed. 

“Mum?” Hermione called as she opened the door to the apartment. She toed off her shoes and set her bag down in the hall. Locking the door behind her, she then turned and made her way to her mother’s bedroom. Hermione popped her head in the room, but it was empty. She then made her way to the kitchen.

“Hey Mum,” said Hermione, seeing Joyce sitting at the kitchen table, lit cigarette burning down in one hand.

Joyce didn’t respond and Hermione examined her mother. She looked worse. Hermione could tell that the circles under her eyes were more pronounced, and her nightgown seemed to hang off her bony shoulders even more than it had just a week ago. She was clean, probably thanks to the nurses that came in, but it was clear that Joyce was struggling once again.

Hermione did some mental calculation. Normally when her mother was this bad, it was safest for Hermione to just leave her alone. But she had hoped to have the opportunity to push her again about extending the nurse’s hours. Or maybe going into some sort of long term care facility. Hermione had gotten her fist check two days before and could start saving for a deposit on a slot at one of the facilities, if only Joyce would agree to it.

“Mum, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. It’s been my new job.” Hermione paused for a second, but Joyce’s expression remained blank.

“I want to extend the nurse’s hours. I’ve been leaving you food, but I know you’ve barely eaten any of it.”

Again, there was no response from Joyce.

“If you don’t want to see more of the nurses, maybe we should revisit a care home?” The suggestion was much more tentative than Hermione meant it to be. She knew that a care home was the best option for her mother. She was unable to care for herself, and Hermione certainly couldn’t care for her. The nurses were a help, but Joyce needed more than they could provide.

The cigarette was almost all the way burned down. Hermione was about to reach over and put it out when there was the sharp rap of an owl’s beak on the kitchen window.

Joyce’s head turned sharply towards the noise.

“Get that bloody thing out of here!” Joyce screeched. Her voice was horse from disuse, but filled with fury. The suddenness of the outburst made Hermione jump.

“Those infernal things bring nothing but pain! How dare you invite that nonsense to this house!”

Hermione pressed her lips together and hurried to the window, determined to shoo the bird away as quickly as possible. She had wanted a conversation with Joyce, but not this sort, not Joyce yelling and Hermione trying to reason with her or subdue her.

The beautiful snowy owl looked started at the screams coming from Joyce and was giving the other woman a wary look even as it held its leg out to Hermione. She removed a letter written on thick cream parchment. The envelope was sealed with wax that was stamped with a coat of arms that looked vaguely familiar.

“Are you supposed to wait for a response?” Hermione asked the bird in low tones that cut through her mother’s screams. The owl hooted softly, as if in agreement.

“Can you come back in an hour? I’ll have a reply then.” The owl again hooted in what sounded like agreement and flew off into the night.

Hermione turned back to Joyce who was red in the face and panting. The yelling had stopped when the bird left, and Hermione was left feeling slightly quilty. She did try to keep owls out of her mother’s sight. It had been an owl that had delivered St. Mungo’s refusal to see her father, and it had been an owl that delivered the letter that took Hermione away from the life that her mother thought she should have had.

“I told you,” Joyce’s voice was low, vicious, and angry and Hermione flinched at the tone. “I don’t want any of your strangeness in the house. I can barely stand that you’re here, when everyday you go out into that—that terrible world. You cannot bring it here.”

“Mum,” said Hermione, hands held out in a placating gesture, one hand still clutching the letter, “it's probably a letter from work.”

“I don’t care.” Joyce spat out. “I won’t have it. And I don’t want to go to a care home and I don’t want to see more of the nurses. I don’t want any of it. Why won’t you let me die in peace at home? I want to go back to our home. I don’t want to be here and I don’t want you here. If your father was alive he’d never have treated me like this. You should be ashamed.”

Before Hermione could respond Joyce had dropped her still lit cigarette on the table and stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her.

With a flick of her wand Hermione put out the cigarette and vanished the ashes. She double checked the fireproofing spells on the kitchen table just to be sure. After they had moved in Hermione had been forced to fireproof all the furniture to ward against her mother’s habit of leaving lit cigarettes everywhere. It was hard to keep up with, especially in her mother’s room. The spells had to be renewed once a month, and her mother hated it when magic was done around her or to her possessions. She put away her wand and sat heavily at the kitchen table.

Hermione sighed, and brought her free hand to her forehead, applying pressure in an attempt to ward off the stress headache she could feel coming. She had known better than to try to talk to her mother when she was in this state. Back right after her father had died, a confrontation like this would have brought Hermione to tears. But what Joyce had said now wasn’t even the most hurtful thing to come out of her mouth in the past month, so Hermione was better able to shrug it off. 

It was still desperately sad to her though, and if she thought too much about it, she would start crying. She still remembered how warm her mother used to be. Her father’s death had stolen both her parents and she was left to mourn with her husk of a mother who only remembered her anger and pain. The excruciating part was that sometimes she would still see flashes of how her mother once was, like she did a week ago. But they never lasted long and came about unpredictably.

Hermione shook her head. She would just extend the nurse’s hours. Joyce would hate it, but maybe the extra company might do her good. She also resolved to start putting money away for the care home. She would be unable to commit Joyce against her will, but maybe the nurses would vouch for the need to mandate her into a facility. The ability to care for her mother was beyond Hermione and had been for a while now, and Joyce would get the help she needed in an in-patient facility.

Decision made, the letter that had just been delivered claimed Hermione’s attention. She slid a finger under the flap of the envelope, breaking the seal. In precise and slightly messy handwriting was a letter from Harry. A small smile overcame Hermione's face and she used a finger to gently trace the signature.

_Dear_ ~~ _est_~~ _Hermione,_

_Our conversation today was cut short. Would you be available for breakfast tomorrow? 7:30am in my office? I know we still have things to discuss._

_I also wanted to extend an invitation to dinner at Cador Castle the day after tomorrow. Both my father and his consort, Remus Lupin-Black, are eager to make your acquaintance and are annoyed at me for how long it had taken for me to_ ~~_get my shit together_~~ _discuss our situation with you._

_It will be very informal, and I promise they will be on their best behavior. Or at least I’ll try to minimize their outrageous behavior at the very least._

_To be candid, this is the fourth draft of this letter. I feel like I have so much to say to you, but I want to watch your face when we speak. ~~Did you know your eyes are so expressive?~~_ ~~_When you’re contemplating a problem the gold flecks almost go bronze in the right light._~~

_Please let me know about breakfast. And dinner._

_Yours,_ _Best,_

_Harry_

Hermione could tell that the text of the letter had been agonized over. She saw cross outs, and hesitation marks throughout the text. She found it charming. She recognized that Harry, for all his nobility and aristocratic upbringing, was just as awkward and nervous about this as she was and it made her feel pleasantly warm and deeply relieved. 

She reread the letter again before retrieving a quill, ink and parchment from her room to write a response.

She also went through four drafts.

The ink was drying on her signature on what Hermione had sworn was her last version of her reply when the owl tapped again at the kitchen window.

Hermione let the owl in and gave it some food scraps she had retrieved from the refrigerator as treats for the bird. She felt bad that the owl had been scared by her mother’s anger. The white owl butted its head against Hermione’s hand in thanks before gobbling down the food. 

Today had been better than she had expected it to be, but tomorrow would be a better day, Hermione thought fiercely. Her mother would get more help, her heart would not be constantly breaking in Harry’s presence, and she would even have breakfast with him. Maybe he would even touch her more. That thought made something behind her breast bone ache in longing and she rubbed her sternum to try to ease the pressure.

She would force herself to eat dinner and then she would go right to bed, and tomorrow would be better.

She carefully tied her response to the owl’s leg and watched as it flew off into the night sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a week late. I apologize for setting expectations I was not able to meet, but real life got in the way. Thank you for your patience! My spring break is next week, and as of right now I plan to spend a good amount of time writing. (Hopefully also updating my other WIP. Maybe also starting another fic. We'll see.)
> 
> ~Ely


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione have breakfast and discuss what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't thank everyone who takes time to review enough. I love hearing your theories and what you think! Thank you to all the people who read/kudos/subscribe/bookmark. It is so nice that people are enjoying this!
> 
> Here is the newest chapter, I hope everyone is keeping themselves safe and ~social distancing~ appropriately.
> 
> Also I now have a fandom tumblr! I'm MissELYLux on there.

**August 14, 2008**

Hermione had trouble sleeping that night.

After she had finished sending the reply to Harry, she had checked on her mother. Predictably, Joyce was asleep, cigarette burning in the mug next to her bed that served as an ashtray.

Tossing and turning, Hermione could not determine if her insomnia was because she was nervous for breakfast with Harry, or upset about what had happened with her mother, or the potential that to break the ward on the box might require her to die.

If Hermione was honest with herself, Joyce’s behavior had not been out of the norm. There were more bad days than good recently and keeping up with the rollercoaster of her mother’s moods was a full-time job in and of itself. Increasing the hours the nurses were present might help, but really, she needed her mother to go into full time residential care. It would be expensive, but with her new pacheck and downgrading to a smaller apartment she could make it work. The ever present issue was that her mother would never consent to that. And though her mother was deeply ill, she wasn’t ill enough for the state to step in and mandate her care.

Sighing deeply she turned from her side to stare at the ceiling.

Imagining what breakfast with Harry would be like made her stomach flip over. Partly in nerves and partly in pleasant anticipation. They had cleared the air with their brief conversation in the Goblin Realm, but she didn’t know what he expected. He said he was interested, but what was he interested _in_? Did he want a real relationship? Did he just want to explore their magical compatibility and not be romantically entangled? The idea that he might not want her like she wanted him made the ache at the center of her chest return. 

The blankets suddenly felt stifling so she kicked them to the end of her bed. She turned over and punched the pillow. She could feel the tension building in her body. She didn’t really know what she and Harry were going to talk about. Obviously they had things to discuss, and speculating on answers she didn’t know wasn’t going to help her any.

Death was the next thing on her mind, specifically her own death.

She rubbed her right wrist where the mark left by the box still lingered. She suspected she probably wouldn’t _have_ to die for the ward to be broken. After all, her brief commune with the artifact had left her feeling powerful. Though she couldn't say for certain, it seemed unlikely that something that had such a positive reaction to her would hurt her in that way. But she didn’t know for certain. There wasn’t a lot she could do about it from bed though, so she put it out of her mind.

Since sleep was obviously eluding her and she had no desire to spend hours staring at the ceiling and wishing for sleep, Hermione instead decided to get up and more closely examine the pyramid artifact that she had kept from the junkshop.

She turned it over in her hands again and again, paying close attention to the spacing on the runes, the details that she may have overlooked on her first examination. She took out the photos of the box from the Ministry and compared both, looking for similarities, differences, something to explain this nagging feeling in the back of her head.

It was 4am before she came to some conclusions she was comfortable with. 

The pyramid had notable similarities in rune work to the box held in the Ministry. The similarities were both in the runes used, their origins, and the unique spacing and placement on the surface of both objects. When she had seen the box she had thought that some of the runes were wholly unique. But she had found those same runes on the pyramid.

The fact that these previously unknown runes appeared on two different objects she had come across in the space of less than a month felt too weird to just be a coincidence. 

She also knew that it was time to loop in at least Quince, but probably the whole team. She could no longer justify her reticence in sharing the pyramid by claiming she was uncertain they were linked. While she still didn’t know for sure, the odds were pretty good.

Eyes finally heavy, she settled back into bed, hoping for at least an hour or two of sleep.

* * *

Despite all the thought and worry she had given her breakfast with Harry, Hermione still woke up late. 

She had just enough time to throw on her clothes, swipe on mascara, and run out the door. On one hand, she was grateful that she didn’t have time to psyche herself out and dither excessively about what outfit to wear. On the other hand, it would have been nice if she had been able to put on matching socks or find her nice underwear.

Not that she thought anyone would be seeing her underwear that day. But still, good underwear made her feel more confident and in control.

Her walk from the apartment to the apparition point was brisk, and she arrived at the Ministry with minutes to spare. She forced herself to calm down, taking deep breaths in an effort to slow her heartbeat that was thundering in her ears.

It sort of worked.

The floor for the DMLE was entirely empty, and the door to Harry’s office was closed when she stepped off the lifts. Halfway across the bullpen his office door swung open violently and hit the wall with a loud bang. An obviously irritated Ron stepped out of the room. 

The redhead was still talking to the person in the office, his back turned to the bullpen, oblivious to her presence.

“I don’t know who you think you are Potter, but this shit won’t fly here. You can’t just expect Aurors to fucking rat each other. Smith was a good man in a fight, who cares if he was a little rough with some wankers in Knockturn? They deserved it!”

Harry’s voice was low, angry, and very audible, “I’ve made my decision Auror Weasley. If you’re unhappy with it, you’re welcome to make a formal complaint. But you will respect my decision, and you will keep your mouth shut and you will do your job. Do I make myself clear?”

“Whatev—” Ron’s response was abruptly cut off as he turned sharply on his heel to see Hermione frozen in the center of the bullpen. He flushed a dull red and shot Hermione an irritated look as he stormed out of the bullpen and into the Auror offices.

Hermione walked slowly towards Harry’s office wanting to allow him enough time to compose himself after what had obviously been a tense conversation.

Sitting behind his desk with his palm pressed to his forehead, Harry’s robe was draped over the back of his shoulder and he only had on his Oxford. She could see his tie dangling from the corner of his desk. Harry didn’t hear her until she knocked lightly on the door frame.

His head shot up and he was obviously startled.

She worried her lip for a second, wondering what to say. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Do you need a minute?”

Harry stood and gave her a wry smile.

“No, I’m fine. Just—fuck, please come in. I had a whole plan, but that’s obviously gone tits up.”

Meeting her at the door, Harry took her hand, pulling slightly to guide her into the office. Where he touched tingled, and Hermione bit back a gasp at the intensity of the feeling. Harry tensed at the contact and his eyes went wide, so Hermione knew he felt it too.

“Always comes as a surprise, huh?” She laughed out, breathless.

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat in a bid to regain control.

With the hand he wasn’t holding he made a gesture, and in an impressive display of silent wandless magic, closed the door behind them. He led her further into his office, to the one chair devoid of paperwork. Harry let her go and was about to take a step back when Hermione gave into impulse and threw her arms around his waist, hugging him to her. His arms went up around her shoulders. At his touch she felt something in her she didn’t know was tense soothe out, relaxing for the first time since he had let her go in the Goblin Realm.

Tucking her head under his chin she nuzzled into his chest and then abruptly stopped once she realized what she was doing. She felt his deep chuckle under her cheek and her blush heated. 

“Thank you,” said Harry, bringing up a hand to her head to smooth one of her wayward curls down. His chin dipped and she felt his lips press a kiss into her hair. She reveled in his warmth and comfort and thought again about how strange the past week and a half of her life had been, how unexpected this emotional closeness with someone she barely knew was. She still had trouble trusting whatever it was between them, but in his arms she couldn’t help but melt against his solid frame.

They stayed like that for a minute then Harry’s arms tightened around her briefly before taking half a step back, close enough so that her arms were still loose around his middle and his arms were draped over her shoulders. 

He smiled down at her, soft and relaxed. “I’m pretty sure I promised you breakfast,” he said. HIs hand drifted to her neck and he smoothed his thumb down the curve of her throat.

A full body shiver at the feeling of the hitch of his calluses over her throat made Harry’s eyes flare with heat. He took a deep breath and Hermione let him go, trying to control her own reaction.

“Yes, you did promise me breakfast,” she said, trying to keep her voice light despite the beating of her heart that urged her to return to the shelter of his arms. Harry cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his chin, steadying himself.

“Dobby,” he called, turning his head slightly. Almost immediately Harry’s elf popped into the office with an engraved silver serving tray so large Hermione was surprised that Dobby could carry it by himself. 

“Master Harry is late! Dobby told Master Harry that he should let Dobby come early to set up. The mess here!”

Hermione hid her smile behind a hand as Dobby scolded Harry while setting up what looked like a delicious breakfast spread.

Looking chaginned, Harry continued to let his elf berate him. He caught Hermione’s eye and exchanged an amused glance with her. 

In short time Dobby had cleared a space on Harry’s desk for the large silver tray, moved two seats close enough to use the desk as a table, but not to have the large expanse of wood between them, and made plates for the both of them.

The smell of the breakfast foods made Hermione’s mouth water and she gave Dobby a polite thank you while accepting the plate of food from him. Dobby looked at her fondly, but then turned to Harry and once again looked annoyed. Harry’s plate was handed over much less delicately and a piece of bacon would have fallen to the floor, had it not been for Harry’s quick reflexes.

With an annoyed huff Dobby bowed and then disappeared with a pop.

“Quite the elf you have there,” said Hermione, genuinely amused at Dobby’s antics. She had spent a fair amount of time around the house elves at Hogwarts. They had provided her food when she hadn’t felt up to braving the Great Hall, especially during her second year, and they had always been very kind to her. Though she had at first been appalled that they were unpaid, time talking to them taught her about their need for a tie to a wizarding family in order to keep their magic.

“Yes, well, we’ve had him for fifteen years now and he is very comfortable expressing his opinions.” Harry poured both of them a cup of coffee from the carafe Dobby had left. He drank his black, but at her request added milk and sugar to hers.

Hermione gratefully accepted the mug with a murmured thanks. “You sent him over with lunch my first day and I never thanked you. I did appreciate that, it was very kind of you.”

He gave her a grin. “Oh, thank you. I had—I was going to ask you out to lunch myself, but there was an emergency I had to attend to, so I figured he was the next best thing.” 

They ate in silence for a minute as Hermione savored the food. It tasted just as good as it smelled, and was a welcome break from the microwave meals she had been having at home.

Hermione wondered how to bring up what she had overheard. Or if she should bring it up at all. Harry looked much more relaxed, so she didn’t want to add to his stress again by pressing the subject.

Harry spared her from further deliberation. “So I’m sure you must have questions about…” he waved his hand, gesturing vaguely around the room with his fork, “that?”

“I do,” said Hermione, considering her approach, “but I also know that your job may require discretion, so I wasn’t going to pry.” Though she was desperately curious.

“I inherited a mess,” sighed Harry. “There is a good deal of corruption, especially in the Aurors, and everyone just wants to cover their asses, not to do the actual hard work of catching dark wizards and protecting the public.”

Brows furrowed and mouth downturned, Harry’s face was a study in frustration. 

“And that was Ron…”

“That was Auror Weasley refusing to take responsibility for his own actions. He ignored the brutalizing of an unarmed suspect. His partner cursed a man without a wand in Knockturn Alley, apparently for not moving out of his way fast enough. Auror Weasley found it funny and added a little of his own. He’s now suspended for three weeks without pay.”

Though she didn’t say it, Hermione was surprised, she hadn’t considered that sort of corruption to be a problem in the Ministry, but obviously it was. She knew that there was deep seated prejudice, but she had never heard of Aurors beating up the public. “What happened to his partner?”

“He’s on leave pending a decision about his termination.” Harry’s voice was dark.

Hermione nodded. “Seems reasonable. They’re in positions of trust and power and should be held to a higher standard in their behavior.”

“That was my position as well. But it seems as though many of the current guard think that they deserve to get away with whatever they want because of the danger of their job. I suspect that Smith also was collecting protection payments from Knockturn Alley businesses. I know for a fact that another Auror was taking bribes as well. It’s a mess, and it’s going to end with me replacing a third of the current Aurors on the job.” Harry stabbed a piece of melon on his plate with vigour, obviously discontented.

“Wow, that will be...a lot.” A third of the Auror force gone would be a huge upset. She had a flash of the angry headlines that would probably accompany such a change. Harry would be very unpopular in some circles for that, perhaps dangerously unpopular.

“It’s necessary. If I can’t trust these people, then they can’t be out on patrol or conducting investigations.”

“I agree.” Hermione pushed some food on her plate around with her fork, thinking about how to express her worry for him. “You’re going to get pushback though. The Ministry is an old boy’s network. I’m sure many of your problem Aurors come from old families and have excellent connections. I learned the hard way how important connections are.”

Harry’s mouth twisted and he grimaced. “I know. I saw your record when we brought you in for this job. You applied so many times. The last application you submitted was for a secretarial position. Do you know how overqualified you were? You should have been hired years ago to lead research projects in whatever department you wanted.”

“I hadn’t realized you saw those applications.” Hermione fought down her embarrassment that Harry had seen all her failed attempts at being hired. “Yes, I know I was more than qualified for every position I applied to here. But this is not a meritocracy.”

“I hate it.” Harry said in a low, angry voice, “it’s such bullshit. It’s why I stayed away for so many years.”

Breathing deeply, Harry shut his eyes for a second in a bid to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to unload. This was—This was supposed to be for us to talk about...well, us.”

Hermione gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. You had a stressful morning. What did you want to talk about in terms of...us?” She could not believe she blushed at the last word. Her blush deepened, why was she acting like a young girl in the throes of her first crush? She was a grown woman who had been in relationships before.

Harry set his empty plate down. “Well. What do you know about magical compatibility?”

“Not too much. Like I said, Quince told me some about it. He said that we would be able to perform powerful magic together. But also that our connection could allow you to steal my magic.”

“I’m not, I would never,” Harry was agitated and looked at her earnestly.

“I know, I never thought that you would. If I had, I would have run away when I found out.” She placed a hand on his forearm in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “But that’s all I know about magical compatibility.”

“To be honest, there isn’t much more information than that. I found a diary of a magically compatible couple, and a pamphlet that the Ministry used to distribute, but that’s it. It’s very rare and has never been properly studied to my knowledge. I looked, I tried to find more academic accounts, but there was nothing. The pamphlet was stuck in the diary, and the diary came from a magically compatible couple who were great-great-great-uncles of mine on the Potter side.”

Harry used his wand to summon the materials and handed them to Hermione.

He still hadn’t pulled his arm from under her hand. His skin was warm through the material of his shirt, and she could feel the muscles of his forearm tense as he angled his body more towards Hermione.

Hermione looked down at the book and pamphlet, and felt a flutter in her heart that he had found reading material for her. They were almost strangers, but he had been able to anticipate her needs and had sought out _reading material_ for her.

“So,” she said, still looking down at the book, “what do you want from this?”

“Er—well.”

Smiling, Hermione decided to spare him from the awkwardness. She gathered her Gryffindor courage around her and ploughed forward.

“I know you said you were _interested_ , and so am I. But what are you interested in? Do you want a real romantic relationship? Do you want a magical partnership? Do you want friendship?” She met his eyes, willing herself to keep ahold of her bravery. “I want a romantic relationship, but I’ll respect your decision if you want something different.”

“I do—I want that—a romantic relationship.” Harry;s cheeks were ruddy, but he held Hermione’s gaze with a smile.

“Oh—” Hermione had been half bracing herself for a rejection, so his immediate acceptance threw her for a moment. “Good. I mean. Good.”

A small smirk pulled at Harry’s lips. “Yes. Good”

They stayed there smiling at each other, until she gave his forearm a squeeze and then withdrew her hand, reaching for her plate she had abandoned. She had other questions she meant to ask, and she tried to gather her thoughts to remember them, but she felt so giddy that concentrating proved difficult. She took the last bite of her breakfast and then remembered at least one of her questions.

“So what should I expect from dinner with your family tomorrow night?” 

“Well, _I_ expect to be thoroughly embarrassed by both my father and Remus. They’ve promised that they’re breaking out the most humiliating of my baby photos.”

Hermione giggled, delighted, and Harry’s smile grew wider.

“Don’t expect anything formal. My dad was raised in a very old fashioned formal household, so he detests airs. I expect Remus will cook and Dad will have pretended to have helped and take most of the credit. Really though, don’t worry, they’re just excited to meet you.”

“Do they know about us, about what we are?” She was curious, but not alarmed. She believed she could trust Harry’s judgment, and nothing so far had indicated she couldn’t. If he had told his father and Remus, she trusted that they would not take advantage of the knowledge.

“Yes, I told Sirius the first day. He came into my office after our meeting and I was a mess.”

Pleased that their meeting had also thrown Harry, Hermione pressed. “You were a mess?”

Harry looked slightly embarrassed, but was still grinning at her. “I felt the pull, and it was the most overwhelming sensation I had ever felt. I was more than a little flustered.” It made her curious, in the sort of academic way that always led to hours of research and too much time spent tinkering or in libraries.

“Me too,” Hermione admitted. “The...symptoms have been interesting. I seem to be sensitive to your touch.” 

Her face heated at the admission and she could feel the blush work its way down her neck to her chest. She brought her hands to her face and pressed her palms and then the back of her hands to her cheeks, trying to cool the burn.

“I also seem to be blushing much more in your presence, I normally rarely blush, but there seems to be an increase in—” she cut herself off, realizing she was beginning to ramble and gave Harry a small grin.

The room felt warmer and Harry pulled at the collar of his shirt, undoing the first two buttons. “I—yeah, me too. To both.”

Hermione nodded, filing the information away for later. 

With a pop, Dobby reappeared in the office, so suddenly both Harry and Hermione jumped.

From the disapproving frown on Dobby’s face, it looked like the elf still hadn’t forgiven Harry for not calling him for breakfast on time. “Master Harry was telling Dobby to come back at half eight because youse has a meeting in ten minutes.” He waved a hand, collecting all the plates and the tray before popping away again.

Cursing, Harry stood and offered her his hand to help her up.

She took it, and the sparks that were quickly becoming familiar flitted up her arm to her chest.

“I’m sorry about this,” said Harry, close enough so that he had to look down at her, still holding her hand. His thumb rubbed small circles into her palm and the sensation made her shiver.

“I understand, we both have jobs to do.” She said. In a move she didn’t think too much about, she brought her hand to his face and gently cupped his jaw. Harry turned his head and pressed his lips into her palm. Her breath caught in her throat and she heard the whoosh of her heartbeat in her ears.

“Will you let me know before you try to break the ward?” Harry spoke into her palm, and the wet warmth of his breath on her hand made her let out a shaky sigh. How could something so simple and innocuous have such a huge reaction on her body?

The room was again hot again and she desperately tried to remember what he had just asked. She closed her eyes for a second in an attempt to regain her equilibrium.

“Yes,” she said quietly, eyes still closed, “I’ll let you know. It’ll probably be this afternoon.”

“Good,” his reply was more breath than words and he pressed another kiss into her palm.

A knock on the door broke their bubble of intimacy and Hermione dropped her hand and took a step back. 

Annoyed, Harry let out a disgruntled huff and let go of her hand, turning towards the door. Before he could answer it, there was another insistent knock, followed by a distinctly flirtatious and feminine voice.

“Harry? Are you in? You promised we’d talk later, it’s later you naughty boy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was originally another long plotty scene in this chapter, but the length of their breakfast got away from me, so that scene was moved to the next chapter. 
> 
> I'm doing my best to keep to my once a week schedule, but life has a way of getting in the way. Or in this case, a global pandemic has a way of getting in the way.
> 
> Stay safe everyone and remember to wash your hands!
> 
> -Ely


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a conversation with the intruder and learns more about the ward and the pyramid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can now follow me [ on Tumblr ](https://misselylux.tumblr.com/)

**August 14, 2008**

The look Hermione gave Harry at the obvious flirtation coming from behind his closed door was distinctly unimpressed. 

The sharp knock again diverted her gaze to the door. Harry’s sigh of frustration was audible.

“Merlin,” he muttered under his breath, “I told her I wasn’t bloody interested.”

Harry’s obvious annoyance soothed the moment of sour panic that had welled up in Hermione’s gut and coated the back of her throat. She swallowed the feeling down as Harry yanked open the door.

Cho Chang was leaning against the door frame, robes open to reveal a tight violet dress just this side of professional. If Hermione was being objective, it was a lovely number, well-tailored and made of a beautiful satin fabric. But she found herself wholly uncharitable towards the other woman, so the dress was trashy. 

“Harry!” Cho’s voice was sugary sweet and Hermione blinked in confusion. They had spent six years in school together and Hermione had never heard Cho speak in that tone.

“Cho” Harry replied, voice flat and eyes only briefly glancing at her. “I don’t have time to meet with you. If you have some business related to the DMLE, you should set a time to meet with the relevant subdivision head. I don’t deal with any personal matters while I’m at work, nor do we have any personal matters to discuss.”

Looking down at the floor, Hermione concealed her smirk. It was gratifying to hear Cho shot down like that. It had never happened at Hogwarts, where Cho had been a queen bee.

The other woman’s eyes flicked over her and then she looked away with a dismissive sneer. It definitely stung, but much of the bite was taken out of it by the fact that Harry wasn’t even looking at Cho. Instead he had turned to look at Hermione with something soft in his eyes.

“Sorry about this, love.” He said in a low voice. _Love he had called her love. Love_. Her stomach flipped and a grin stole across her face.

“It’s fine. I have to get into the workroom anyway. I’ll let you know about the…” her eyes shot to Cho for a second meaningfully. “The thing. And then we have our meeting this evening.”

“Yes, I’ll see you then.” Harry guided her, hand on the small of her back to the door, past Cho who was now openly frowning at Hermione.

Hermione offered the black haired woman a brittle smile, “Miss Chang, nice to see you again.” It was impossible to keep her voice from conveying the sheer joy she felt at having won something over a childhood enemy.

Harry’s hand drifted dangerously low on her back and Hermione did her best not to arch into the contact. A blush she felt from her core to the roots of her hair swept through her and she willed herself not to look back at him. Instead she walked at a sedate pace towards the lifts. Behind her, Harry said something in that same flat cold voice to Cho, who simpered in response. The door to his office had snicked closed by the time she reached the lift doors.

A ding signaled the arrival of a car and she stepped in, a giddy smile on her face. _He had called her love, he wanted to be with her the way she wanted to be with him._ The door was almost closed when a perfectly manicured hand shot through the gap and held it open.

Cho Chang stepped into the elevator, looking distinctly put off.

Suddenly the car felt too small and the walls felt like they were closing in.

It was easy to be brave back in Harry’s office, while he was there to back her up. It was another thing to be trapped alone in a lift with her childhood bully who was now actively glaring at her.

The lift door shut with a pneumatic whirr. The silence felt like a physical presence in the small space. Cho’s glare was burning into the side of her neck, but Hermione resolutely kept her eyes on the door and did not look at the other woman.

After what felt like an eon of silence Cho finally spoke up.

“You look familiar.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to stop her jaw from dropping. 

Cho Chang has been the worst of her bullies. Hermione had thought of her less and less over the years, but still about every other month or so something cruel that the other woman had said or done would inevitably float through her mind. 

And the woman didn’t even recognize her. 

She was almost offended. Even though she had long since gotten over her time at Hogwarts, the fact that Cho didn’t even remember her was galling. The cruelty that had stuck with Hermione had obviously run off Cho like water off a duck’s back.

Instead of answering Hermione hummed noncommittally. Nothing good would come of engaging with this woman.

But Cho pressed on. “Did you go to Hogwarts?”

Silence again lingered. This confrontation was obviously going to have to happen. Better to do it now away from a crowd, because at least if Cho made her cry like she had at school, there would be no witnesses. The lift was taking what seemed like forever and it went against her nature to just straight up ignore someone who was talking directly to her.

Hermione angled her body very slightly towards Cho. Enough so that she could see the other woman’s face, but not enough to reveal her far hand, which was clutching her wand in a white knuckled grip. She didn’t think Cho was dangerous, but keeping hold of her wand made her feel more in control of the situation. 

“Yes, I went to Hogwarts” Hermione kept her voice as bland as possible. 

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Cho looked between her face, her hair, and back to her face. 

“Hermione?” Cho’s voice was almost offensively surprised, “Hermione Gr—Grant?”

“Granger.” She was proud her voice didn’t waiver.

Cho’s eyes narrowed into something close to a glare. “Oh. You know Harry then?” Cho was attempting to be casual, but didn’t quite hit the mark, sounding too interested.

“I’m working with him.”

“It looked like you were doing more than working with him,” Cho had obviously abandoned her attempt at casual because her tone was venomous and accusatory.

Hermione’s reply was delivered in a clipped voice that was meant to end the conversation. “That’s none of your business.” 

Cho let out a scoff of indignation. “I think you’ll find you’re mistaken _Granger_ ,” her name was said with such animus that it felt like a physical blow. “I remember you now. You’re that pathetic girl who thought that Cormac actually liked you. Well it looks like you’ve encountered the same situation. You’re chasing another man who has no real interest in you. Harry doesn’t like you. I’m his _girlfriend_.”

Had Cho confronted her just one day ago, Hermione was sure she’d be in tears. The combination of her childhood bully and the man she had some mysterious magical romantic connection with would have sent her into a spiral similar to the one she had been in during her 5th year after the nonsense with Cormac McLaggen. 

But now was different. Harry had just told her that there was no one else, she had just found a home in his arms, she had just been told that he wanted her like she wanted him. 

This petty, small woman had nothing on the electric elation that was running through her veins.

“Really?” Hermione’s tone was mild. The lift hit her floor and she praised its impeccable timing. She stepped out of the elevator car and turned to fully face Cho, offering the other woman a smile. “Well, you’ll have to tell him that. Because he’s under the impression that he’s mine.”

She watched as the lift doors closed on a livid Cho.

* * *

Hermione’s glee at being able to gloat only lasted as long as it took her to get to the workroom. 

There she was met by her whole team, all looking worried and drawn. 

Malfoy was buried under a pile of very old paper, comparing multiple documents and Quince was deep in conversation with Nagnok. As she closed the door close behind her, she felt everyone’s attention shift. 

“Yes?” She asked, suddenly nervous about being the center of such intense scrutiny,

Quince cleared his throat. “Nagnok and I think we’ve found the right runes to break the ward.”

“Excellent,” Hermione said, cautious at the somber looks on everyone’s faces. “What else though?”

“Well,” said Nagnok, “It doesn’t look like the ward will be broken with sex magic.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We believe we’ve pinpointed the rune sequence on the box that anchors the ward. If you look at this pattern here,” Nagnok picked up a picture of the box and pointed to a spiral of runes, “You’ll see the repeating pattern of Thurisaz, meaning life, energy, choice, and Naudiz, meaning sacrifice, giving, ending.”

“Yes, I see that,” said Hermione peering closely at the photo. “Oh,” she exhaled slowly. “There’s nothing in this rune sequence that would link it to sex magic. Nothing about fertility, or unity, or even ecstasy.”

Nagnok and Quince were still looking at her, concern written on Quince’s face, schooled blankness on Nagnok’s. Malfoy had returned to his research, but his head was tilted towards them, listening closely to the conversation. 

“So,” she said slowly, “correct me if I’m wrong, but this probably means that the ward can only be broken either with my blood or with my death.”

“That’s the conclusion we came to,” Quince was almost apologetic.

“Okay then.” Hermione sat down heavily in the closest chair. “That’s not wholly unexpected. We’ll have to try blood first, obviously.”

Removing her notebook from her bag, she opened it to the next clean page and began to write a list of what they would need to try to break the ward with blood.

Unconsciously, her hand went to the pyramid that she had stashed in the pocket of her robe. Her fingers smoothed over its surface, before wrapping around it, the point of the pyramid digging into her plm. She withdrew the object from her pocket. 

It was time to tell her team about it, especially if there was a chance she would die soon.

“I have something else,” she set the pyramid on the table in front of her and it clattered slightly on the hard surface of the worktable. Quince floated over and Nagnok followed closely at his heels. Malfoy abandoned his pretense of research and also came in close enough to examine the gold pyramid.

“This is familiar,” Quince took out his eyepiece and leaned over the pyramid.

“Yes, I was working on it in the Junkshop. It came from the estate of a Mexican wizard who immigrated here. I was supposed to identify it. I don’t know exactly what it does, but it has something to do with blood magic.”

“This rune pattern is familiar,” Nagnok’s voice was low and almost accusatory. Hermione suppressed a flinch, and turned it into a nod. 

“Yes, I came to that conclusion last night. When I left the Junkshop something compelled me to take it with me.”

“Merlin, Granger! Don’t you know better than to allow your behavior to be influenced by magical objects?” Malfoy’s voice was scolding.

“I know Malfoy,” Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, “but it was harmless! I took it apart in the shop and reassembled it, and there was nothing nefarious about it.”

“Still,” Quince’s voice was disapproving, and that hurt more than Nagnok’s accusation or Malfoy’s censure. “You should have said something.”

“Yes, well, I’m saying something now,” Hermione said peevishly, “I didn’t know for certain it was related until last night.”

Malfoy had picked up a photo of the box and was looking back and forth between it and the pyramid. He brought up a thin aristocratic hand to the photo to trace the outline of the blank square on the top of the box with a long finger.

“It could go here,” he said, looking up at Hermione. “This blank square space on the top of the box, it looks like it would be a fit for the bottom of the pyramid.”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

Nagnok took out his awl and began making a series of jabbing motions above the gold object. A similar readout to the one that she had seen when they examined the box emerged from the pyramid.

“Hmmmmmm,” Nagnok made a series of twisting motions with the awl and nodded, like he was understanding something. He looked back up at Hermione and offered her a long look. “You said this was in an estate?”

“Yes, it came in with a box of things that the executor of the estate didn’t want and was unable to sell himself”

Nagnok put his awl back in his pocket. “Were there any provenance documents that accompanied it?”

Hermione brought a hand to her forehead, rubbing at a temple like the motion would help her remember. “No, that was one of the problems. We had no idea where it came from. So we had to try to determine function and origins without any guidance.”

Quince broke in, having remembered something. “Everything else had documents in that estate though, did it not? I remember you complaining about that.”

Nodding, Hermione’s hand dropped to stroke a face of the pyramid. “Yes, other than this pyramid there was excellent documentation. That was weird that this was the only piece that didn’t.”

“So this could have just been slipped in with the rest of the estate pieces and you wouldn’t know?” Asked Nagnok, eyes so focused on Hermione’s face that she glanced away to avoid their intensity.

“I suppose you’re right. But how would that happen? And why?” Hermione was bewildered and didn’t understand, why would someone want her to have the pyramid?

Nagnok ignored her questions. Instead he continued to ask his own. “Did anyone else touch this?”

“No. Quince took a look when we first got it, but he can’t touch physical objects. My old boss, Regus Quincey, also looked at it when we first got it in, but never handled it. He said it was junk and that I should just toss it.”

“But you didn’t.” It was a statement from Nagnok, more than a question.

“No, it...felt important.”

“And you disassembled it?” Nagnok was still hyper focused on Hermione and she did her best not to squirm under the close scrutiny,

“Yes. I also did some diagnostic spells on it. I also managed to do some research into the runes, but I got distracted by this project,”

“And you just touched it? Nothing else?” Nagnok pressed.

“What else would I do with it?” Again, Hermione was perplexed.

“Did you bleed on it?”

“No, I did—fuck.” The bottom fell out of Hermione’s stomach, and her heart beat double time.

“You _bled_ on it? Fuck, Granger, you didn’t even know what it did!” Malfoy’s tone was uncharacteristically emotional. How interesting that she was bringing this out in him, as far as Hermione knew he only tolerated her. But his animation in this discussion seemed to indicate that he more than just tolerated her, but that he actually might have some fondness for her.

“It was an accident. While it was disassembled, my thumb slipped and an unfinished edge nicked me. I got a little bit of blood on it.” Her voice was defensive, and Quince’s distressed expression didn’t help lower her hackles any.

“Hermione, don’t you know how dangerous it is to get blood on a magical object?” There was a pleading note in Quince’s question.

“I know!” She snapped, sick of being treated like an idiot and interrogated. “I am well aware. I’ve worked with dangerous objects for years. Before I disassembled it I checked to make sure all the spellwork was inert. It was essentially a non magical object. I’m not new at this.”

“I know you’re not.” Quince tried to sooth her. “But this is an object of ancient magic, one that standard detection spells might not recognize as having active magical properties.”

“Well—fuck.” She dropped her head to her hands. “I bled on a magical object that’s related to whatever mysterious madness is going on with the box. And now to break the ward around the box I either have to give my blood or my life. Just peachy.”

“Well, this would explain why the ward likes you in particular.” Nagnok stated, eyeing the pyramid.

Her head came up out of her hands and she regarded Nagnok intently. “Are you saying if I hadn’t bled on this stupid pyramid I might be spared whatever this nonsense is?”

“Not exactly.” Nagnok rocked back on his heels. “The pyramid has ancient magic that attracts it to whoever it feels should own it. You bleeding on it probably sealed that bond. So it’s more that something about you or your magic called to the pyramid. Once you bled on it, you were tied inescapably to this...nonsense, as you so aptly put it.”

Hermione regarded Nagnok evenly. “So even if my finger hadn’t slipped, I would still be wrapped up in this mess?”  
“Yes, probably.”

“Well, I’m glad that my loose grip didn’t actually cost me my life.” At least it was fate that had fucked her over, and not a stupid mistake. The blame could be shunted to a higher power and Hermione could stop cursing her own stupidity.

The room was so silent that she could swear that she could hear the creaking of the lifts. She pressed her palms to her eyes and tried to focus. After a minute she let out a long breath and then looked up at her team, eyes hard and lips set in a thin line. 

“Okay then. Here is the plan.” Her voice was steady and determined. She was grateful for that because her insides felt like a roiling mass of anxiety.

“We are going to try to break the ward today. We’ll try blood first. We will keep the pyramid out of the room when we attempt it. We don’t know what sort of interaction it will have with the box, and we want to be sure we have a reliable attempt. 

“If blood doesn’t work we are going to reassess. I’ve made a list of what we’ll need.”

Nagnok leaned over and ripped the page out of her notebook, much to her annoyance. The Goblin looked over the list and nodded. “I will gather the supplies to attempt the blood breaking.” His quick steps tapped out a clear rhythm on the floor, and he was out the door in a matter of seconds.

“What happens if the blood breaking works?” Asked Quince.

“Well then we try to open it. If unlocking spells don’t work we bring in the pyramid. Maybe when placed in the open spot on the top of the box it functions as a key?”

Quince nodded thoughtfully and brought up a translucent hand to stroke his wild eyebrows.

Hermione recognized the look on his face from long hours spent together trying to puzzle through complex artifacts. Quince had an idea. “Explain,” she said shortly, trusting her friend not to be upset at her brusque tone.

“If Nagnok is correct, and the pyramid was called to you, it would make sense for this to be a key to access the box. It would ensure that only the right sort of person had the ability to access its contents.”

“What do you think makes me the right sort of person?” The question burst from Hermione’s lips before she could hold it back. The idea that some ancient artifact had found her worthy of whatever this was, was a dubious honor at best.

Quince shrugged “I’m not sure, but obviously whatever the magic in the pyramid was looking for, it found in you.”

Malfoy was examining Hermione like he had never seen her before. “You are quite brilliant, Granger. And rather resilient. It pains me to say, but you’re a good team leader as well. You don’t ask us to do something you wouldn’t be willing to do yourself and you delegate enough work so that we are busy and productive, but not so much we’re overwhelmed.”

Hermione was more shocked that Malfoy had complimented her than that a magical object had chosen her for some mysterious purpose.

“Th-thank you Malfoy,” she choked out.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Hermione tried to keep from spiralling and Malfoy and Quince just regarded her thoughtfully.

The slamming open of the workroom door indicated that Nagnok had returned from his errand. The Goblin was carrying a knife that was huge, about half the size that he was. He shoved it into Hermione’s hands and she nearly dropped it, unprepared for its weight.

“This is heavier than it looks.” Her first statement was rather obvious as she tried to examine the knife more closely.

“Yes, it is made of osmium, the densest naturally occurring element.”

She turned it over in her hands and watched as runes on the surface of the blade caught the light. The fine metal work and the pattern of the runes struck her as familiar.

“This is Goblin made, isn’t it?”

Nagnok nodded, eyes drifting between the knife and Hermione’s face. “Yes. It dates from the founding of Hogwarts.”

Hermione’s head shot up in surprise and she nearly dropped the knife. “And I’m to use it for the ward breaking? Won’t its own magic interfere with what we’ll be doing?”

“No. The knife has no magic of its own, it only functions as a conduit. So it will only amplify what you put through it.”

“And—sorry, it’s just this must be priceless. You’re sure I’m to use it?” She asked skeptically.

“Yes. King Ragnok sent it with his blessings. He wishes you great success in this endeavor and wishes peace and prosperity between our peoples.”

“Okay…” Hermione’s eyes narrowed in confusion. This was the most formal Nagnok had ever sounded, and his words had the ring of a royal decree. Her eyes shot over to Quince whose ghostly eyebrows had shot up in surprise. Quince made an encouraging motion at her with his hands and she turned back to Nagnok. “Please thank his majesty for the use of this instrument. I wish...the same. Peace and prosperity.” Her voice lilted up at the end of the statement, making it sound more like a question than she would like, but Quince nodded encouragingly, so she thought she had done fine.

Nagnok gave her a deep nod that could have been a bow.

“Okay then.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I think we’re ready. Malfoy, would you floo Harry? He asked to be there when we attempted to break the ward.”

Malfoy gave her a short nod and made his way to the workroom door.

“Well then, let's get this show on the road gentlemen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that this chapter is shorter than usual. This is because what I wrote got so long that I needed to divide it in two. It also made this chapter into a small cliffhanger, but ti's one that will be resolved very soon.
> 
> This also means that I'll have a new chapter up in a few days.
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe and socially distancing. It's a scary time in the world and writing this, reading your comments, and reading fanfic is helping keep me sane and centered. I hope this provides some distraction to you.
> 
> ~Ely


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ward is broken and Hermione suffers some reprecussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews bring me life!
> 
> You can follow me on [ Tumblr ](https://misselylux.tumblr.com/)

**August 14, 2008**

In a scene that was becoming familiar, Harry met Hermione. Quince, and Nagnok outside of the door to the heavily fortified room where the box was held.

He was leaning against the wall, hands behind his back, and one foot propped up on the wall. Harry’s stance made A brief image of a more wholesome, messy haired James Dean flit through Hermione’s brain. As soon as he caught sight of her he pushed himself off the wall. Long, quick steps took him towards her. He caught one of her hands in both of his a way that was both comforting and made her shiver in want. He was so close that she had to look up at him to meet his eyes. 

“Draco filled me in.” Harry’s mouth was set in a grim line. “He says you’re going to try to use your blood to break the ward.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Hermione said, happy that her breathlessness at their contact didn’t come across in her voice.

Harry’s thumbs brushed across her knuckles and he let out a shaky breath.

“Okay. I know you have to try this. But I don’t like it.” He pressed his lips together, obviously displeased.

“I know,” she whispered, offering him a small smile.

She gave his hands a squeeze and cupped his jaw with her palm. He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm. It made her think of their interaction this morning, and she wondered if she could expect more occasions where his lips met her palm and made her heart flutter. She hoped so.

It was strange, how close she felt to this man who she had only known for two weeks. It made her uneasy, how her body and her unconscious mind was so susceptible to his presence. It was hard to trust Magic, and despite the faith that all the magical folks she knew seemed to have in Magic, she was not sure that she should give in without any thought. 

But right now the contact with him, his skin on hers was giving her comfort, so she tried to put it in a box to think of later, when things weren’t so overwhelming. 

“This is lovely and all,” said Quince, his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. At the sound of his voice Harry straightened, obviously having forgotten their audience. “But our girl has a task to complete.”

Harry brought the hand he was holding to his lips and smoothed a gentle kiss over her knuckles before taking a step back from her and breaking the contact.

Hermione turned to see Nagnok, Quince, and Malfoy all smirking at her. She rolled her eyes and was pleased to note that their amusement at her and Harry didn’t make her blush the way that any conversation with Harry normally did.

She shook her head slightly to clear the feel of Harry’s lips and returned to the task at hand. 

“Quince, you need to stay out of the room still. We don’t know what affect the box or its magic has on ghosts. Malfoy, you can come in, but I think you should stay out here with Quince as well, you’ve never been in the room and we don’t know how it might react to an additional person.” Her tone was matter of fact and all business.

Quince nodded but didn’t look pleased. He put his hands in his pockets and brought out his eye piece. He began fiddling with it, a nervous habit of his.

Malfoy’s face was unsmiling, but he also nodded. “I’ll keep Quince company then. Good luck Granger.”

“Thanks.”

Harry opened the door to the heavily warded room and ushered Nagnok and Hermione, shutting the door behind them with a click that sounded ominous in the silence of the room.

Hermione and Nagnok immediately got to work. Nagnok handed Hermione a parchment and then made his way near the door, where Harry was standing.

Hermione consulted the parchment, looking it over for probably the tenth time. It was the rune sequence that Nagnok and Quince had come up with that would break the ward. Reassured that she knew what she was doing, she began tracing the runes in the air with her wand. 

The glowing tip of her wand left a shimmering red-gold after-impression of the symbols hanging in the air. She went slowly, every move of her wand exact and precise. Step by step she made her way around the table that held the box, leaving complex runic patterns in her wake. The whole process took the better part of five minutes. By the time she reached the front of the box where she had started, the dim twilight quality of the room had been tinged orange and the air around the box was lit up with glowing runes. 

Hermione set the parchment down and reached into the deep pocket of her robe, grabbing the handle of the knife Nagnok had given to her.

She approached the box cautiously, hyper aware that the last time she had gotten close to it she had been grabbed. But this time as she approached, there was no reaction. Letting out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in, she squared her shoulders.

She cut a shallow nick in her left palm, just enough to allow a few drops of blood to gather in her palm and then fall to the top of the box. There was a flash, but then nothing.

“Nagnok?” She called out, not daring to look away from the box

There was a shuffling of robes and then Nagnok let out a breath that hissed through his clenched teeth.

“There was a reaction. The ward is still there, just very slightly weaker.”

“It needs more blood.” She said, voice colorless.

“Yes, probably.” replied Nagnok. “We have blood replenishing potion on hand in case.”

“Okay.” Hermione took a breath. “I’m adding more.”

She winced at the burn as she cut the knife deeper into her palm. If only she could have made the cut on a different, less sensitive part of the body. But blood from the hand was special, closest to where magic emerged from the body.

A warm rivulet of blood dripped down her wrist and she angled her fingertips so that the stream was directed to the top of the box. It accumulated in a small puddle on the top of the box, seeping into the rune etchings, making the glass become tinted with blood. 

After a few seconds the light that had flared before reignited, brighter this time. So bright she shut her eyes against the glow. But even behind the shelter of her eyelids it still felt like she was looking at the sun. She tried to turn her head away but found she couldn’t. She tried to take a step back, but again was unable to move.

A soundless shock wave suddenly knocked her off her feet and the light winked out abruptly. The impact knocked the breath out of her and stunned her for a second. Her fist inhale was sharp in her chest and she stayed down on the floor, trying to get her breath back. After about a minute she struggled to sit up, finally settling for a half raised position, propping herself up by her elbows.

Blinking several times to try to clear the spots in her eyes she shook her head to clear the fuzz from her brain. Her gaze first went to the box, which was exactly where she had left it, looking none the worse for wear after that magical explosion. She then turned her head to look for Nagnok and Harry. She found both of them on the floor right where they were standing when she had last looked. Nagnok had managed to pull himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. He gave her a weak wave when he saw her looking at him.

Harry had also managed to get partially up off the floor. He was crawling towards her, a grimace on his handsome face.

“What are you—stay down,” Hermione croaked out, but by the time she had finished her sentence Harry was already hovered over her.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, his eyes trailing up and down her body, looking for injuries. He sat down next to her and brought one hand to cup her cheek and the other hand went to check her pulse.

“I’m fine. Just winded.” She said, breathless. She tried to push herself into a fully seated position, but Harry’s firm palm on her sternum kept her still, pressing her back into a fully reclined position.

“Here,” Harry dragged her, mindful of her injuries, so that she was reclining against his chest, nestled between her legs. She leaned back into his support and winced as her cut hand brushed across the floor.

Harry caught her wince and reached for her injured hand, holding it gently in both of his.

“Winded and still bleeding.” Hermione amended, looking ruefully at her hand which was still freely dripping blood on to her robes and the concrete.

Without a word Harry removed his wand from its holster and healed her palm. The spark of his magic on her skin gave her chills, and something hot and dull throbbed through her core. She made a noise, high in the back of her throat that brought Harry’s eyes to her face sharply. Hermione gave him a pained smile and tried to catch her breath.

Still eyeing her, Harry silently conjured a patronus with a swish of his wand. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. She had never seen anyone silently conjure a patronus before. 

As she was distracted by her shock, Harry gave his stag patronus a message.“Draco, the ward is broken, but we need a Healer.”

“I don’t need a Healer, I just need a minute,” Hermione groused. “Nott I’m sure is busy at St. Mungo’s, and besides, which other Healers have the security clearance to come in here?”

Wrapping a firm arm around her middle, Harry pulled her in closer. “Draco’s mother is a qualified healer. She’s also on the Wizengamot and sits in the Malfoy seat. She’s been fully briefed.”

“Really? I never knew that.” Hermione said, surprise in her voice.

“Mmmm,” Harry hummed affirmatively. He dipped his head to kiss her hair and then kept close to her, tilting so that his cheek rested on the top of her head.

“Nagnok?” Hermione called.

“Fine, I’m fine. Though that Healer wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Okay. Okay.” Hermione lapsed into silence, trying to gather her wits. That shockwave was so large that she couldn’t imagine the strength of the magic that the ward had been imbued with. It must have been astonishing. Then a slightly more frightening thought occurred to her. If this was how the box reacted to only having its ward broken, how would it react when they actually opened it?

Her thoughts spiral more and after a minute of silence Hermione barked out a short laugh. Harry made a questioning noise in the back of his throat and Hermione gave his thigh a reassuring pat.

“I was just thinking, at least this didn’t cost me my life.”

Harry made an unhappy harumph, but before he could respond the door swung open to reveal a striking blonde woman in elaborate and obviously expensive robes. She swept in with a regal bearing like she owned the place. Draco followed half a step behind her. In that moment she knew who Draco got his aristocratic tendencies from. Yes, Lucius Malfoy was every inch the courtier, but Narcissa Malfoy held herself like a queen. It was obvious from watching the graceful steps of the blonde woman that Draco’s attempt at mimicry fell flat, only a pale imitation of his mother.

Nacissa’s first stop was Nagnok. She kneeled down next to the Goblin without regard for the creasing and dirt her fine robes would inevitably accumulate from being in such close contact with the floor.

She withdrew a wand with a delicate hand and began casting diagnostic charms. She leaned down to Nagnok and said something that Hermione couldn’t make out. Nagnok nodded in response, and Narcissa cast a healing spell over him. Almost immediately Nagnok took a deep breath and sat up straighter. He murmured his thanks to Narcissa and stood up slowly, still shaky. Malfoy offered the Goblin his arm, who took it gratefully. The two made their way out of the room and Narcissa stood and walked to where Harry and Hermione sat.

“Harry. I told you, we must stop meeting like this.” Lady Malfoy’s enunciation was crisp and perfect.

“Aunt Cissa, you know I’ve kept my nose clean for a while now.” Harry’s tone was jocular, and Hermione was surprised at how warm he was with the ice cold dragon who was Lady Malfoy.

Lady Malfoy let out a huff of disbelief and placed gentle hands on Hermione's head, tilting it so the other woman could look in her eyes. “Miss Granger, I’m going to have to separate you from Harry to obtain the readings I need.”

Hermione nodded, but then winced as the movement made her head throb in pain.

Two pairs of hands gently moved her so that she was no longer being supported by Harry and was instead flat on the floor again. She watched as Lady Malfoy did the same diagnostic charms over her and examined the readouts carefully.

“Well Miss Granger, you have a mild concussion, two bruised ribs, and the cut in your hand, while healed, needs further attention. I’m afraid it will scar no matter what we do.”

Hermione refrained from nodding and instead said, “Thank you Lady Malfoy. I’m fine with the scar, it’s no matter to me.”

Drawing her wand over the path that Harry’s had traced minutes earlier, Lady Malfoy muttered a healing spell under her breath. Hermione felt the underlying facie of her palm knit more tightly together, and she flexed her hand to ascertain if she had retained her previous range of motion. Though her skin was tight over the wound, she could still make a fist. 

Next, Lady Malfoy withdrew two potions from the pockets of her robes. One Hermione recognized as a headache potion, the other was entirely unfamiliar to her but was a lovely sparkling lilac color. Lady Malfoy unstopped both and handed one then the other to Hermione, who sat up slightly so she could drain both, shuddering at the taste.

Hermione felt a dull throbbing start on her left side, where she supposed her ribs must be bruised. It was unpleasant, but not painful. Lady Malfoy conducted the same diagnostic charms she had before and nodded in satisfaction at their results this time. Hermione allowed herself to close her eyes and relax as Lady Malfoy turned to tend to Harry.

Even the swish of Lady Malfoy’s robes sounded elegant as she kneeled to attend to Harry. The muttered diagnostic charms were followed by a tutting noise from Lady Malfoy.

“Harry, you have a cracked rib. I have to say, this is the least injured I’ve seen you in quite some time.” The older woman’s voice was still rather cold, but there was a teasing lilt to it.

“I told you Aunt Cissa, totally fine.” Hermione could hear the smile in Harry’s voice.

A sharp inhale by Harry told her that Narcissa must have poked at the cracked rib. “Not so totally fine after all, are we?” Lady Malfoy’s tone was superior, but Hermione could hear the warmth creeping into her voice.

“Just give me the damned charm Aunt Cissa.” said Harry, exasperated.

“Language, Your Grace, language.” chided Lady Malfoy.

“I—” Harry was interrupted as Lady Malfoy bit out the healing spell and Harry let out a pained groan as his racked rib healed.

“Melin Aunt Cissa, warn a man,” Harry said, moving back to be closer to Hermione. She opened her eyes as she felt his fingers come to rest gently against her pulse point.

“What do you think Hermione, can we get you back to the workroom? Draco set up cots there.”

“When did Draco have time to set up cots there?”

“I asked him to when he came to fetch me. I had a sneaking suspicion that something powerful enough to leave a magical tattoo on your wrist might have an equally powerful reaction to an attempt to break it.”

Hermione looked at him, impressed with his forethought. She loved a man who had a plan.

“Yes, I’ll need some help getting there…” Hermione trailed off as Harry stood and then leaned back down to sweep her into his arms, bridal style.

“Harry!” She squeaked out, “put me down! You’re injured!”

“Yes, Harry, you just were healed,” Lady Malfoy’s drawl was amused.

“Nonsense, I’m fine,” he said, adjusting Hermione so that she could wrap her arms around his neck.

Hermione caught Lady Malfoy rolling her eyes, but she could tell that the other woman was also suppressing a grin.

“On your head be it if you drop the poor woman,” said Lady Malfoy.

“I won’t drop her.” Harry sounded confident.

Hermione fervently hoped he wouldn’t. She knew she was no longer the waif-like girl she had been at 17. Long days sitting reading old tomes and poking at artifacts and meals made for convenience rather than nutrition had left her with thick thighs and generous hips that her mother would sometimes unflatteringly refer to as “child bearing.”

Clinging tightly to his neck, Hermione tried to relax into Harry’s grasp as he made his way through the halls of the Ministry, Lady Malfoy trailing after them. 

They made it to the lifts without running into anyone, a fact that Hermione was grateful for. The thought occurred to her, as she was cradled in Harry’s arms, that this was not a very professional position for her to be in. She did desire a career at the Ministry after this project was completed. Assuming there still was a ministry at that point. Being caught in the arms of Harry, who was technically her boss certainly might have a negative impact on her professional career. Again though, that was just another thing she shoved in a box in her mind to think of later. Right now the possessive way his fingers were curled over her hips was doing delightful things to her heart.

The doors to the lift closed and the car made its way to the floor that held the workroom, the occupants keeping silent. Hermione’s mind turned to examining the ward breaking process, wondering if it would need to be altered for the patients at St. Munogs.

By the time they had gotten to the workroom Hermione had already mentally adjusted the runic sequence to better suit a living thing and was mentally double checking her own work.

Deep in thought, she was only disturbed when Harry settled on a cot, keeping Hermione in his arms.

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. “I don’t even get my own cot?” She asked, laughter in her voice. She couldn’t really blame him for wanting to keep her close, she wanted the same thing and she felt their link humming in contentment beneath her skin.

“Just for a while, love,” Harry said quietly, and adjusted her to a more comfortable position.

They sat in silence, and a few minutes later Hermione drifted into a relaxed sleep, drained from the ward breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter, slightly later than I thought I'd get it out. Next time: Joyce, and the long awaited dinner with Remus and Sirius.
> 
> I can't tell you how delightful it is to write this and get reviews during this weird and hard time. I hope all of you are doing the best you can and finding escapes where you're able. You all are making a difference in my life, and this would be so much harder without you all.
> 
> Stay safe.
> 
> ~Ely


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wake up after the ritual and returns home to an emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest thanks to everyone who reads/kudos/subscribes/reviews. I am blown away by how much love and support you all have given me. Seriously, this is amazing.
> 
> You can now follow me on [Tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)
> 
> I know I promised dinner with Sirius, but the scenes in between ran away from me, so there is no Sirius here, but there will definitely be Sirius in the next chapter. Girl Scout promise.
> 
> TW: illness/hospital scene

**August 14, 2008**

Hermione woke up slowly. 

The first thing she noticed was a hard arm banded over her waist, tucking her against a firm chest that was keeping her warm in the chill of the workroom.

It was quiet except for the sound of shuffling papers. The light in the room was not bright, but it was enough to make her squint as she peeked open her eyes.

The chest under her cheek shifted and she tilted her head to watch Harry flick his wand, sorting through reports that were floating above them.

“How long was I out? What happened to the box?” Her voice was rough with sleep. She could still feel the ache in her head. As she shifted she felt the twinge of a dull ache over her ribs. There was going to be a spectacular bruise across her torso tomorrow.

“You’ve been asleep for a few hours. It’s about 3pm. The ward on the box is broken, but the ritual didn’t open the box.” Harry’s voice was subdued and waved his wand, sending the reports he was reviewing to a table so he could concentrate on her. 

Nodding and covering her jaw cracking yawn behind one hand Hermione made to sit up. Harry helped maneuver her into a sitting position, still reclined against his chest. In a flash she realized that she was touching him practically from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. It made her flush what she was sure was an obvious red.

Instead of dwelling on how much of Harry’s body she could feel through the thin barrier of their clothes, she instead tried to take stock of the room now visible from her new position. She was still in the workroom. Malfoy and Quince were hunched over documents that were stamped with an insignia that Hermione recognized as belonging to the Earl of Kay, the Longbottom family. 

Looking to the other side of the room, there was an unoccupied Goblin-sized cot. More surprisingly Narcissa Malfoy was sitting at the workstation that was normally Hermione’s taking tea out of a china set that looked like it had cost more than she paid for a years worth of rent.

Lady Malfoy noticed Hermione was awake and stood gracefully. She swept over to the pair of them. .

“Good, you’re awake.” Lady Malfoy’s voice was crisp and no nonsense. 

“Thank you for your care Lady Malfoy, I appreciate it.” Hermione said, meeting the woman’s eyes confidently despite her slightly embarrassing position in Harry’s arms. “If I may ask, where is Nagnok?”

Narcissa Malfoy regarded Hermione with an assessing gaze. “He returned to the Goblin Realm directly after the ward breaking. He only sustained minor injuries and is recuperating there.

“Thank you,” said Hermione, mustering up more of that Gryffindor bravado she forgot she had. 

She remembered what she had heard about Lady Malfoy, mostly from snippets she had overheard from gossiping Slytherins in the library. Slytherins were never as surreptitious as they thought they were, and so she had caught a fair amount of gossip by just being quiet and not bringing attention to herself. 

She had heard that Lady Malfoy was the ultimate Pureblood ice queen, consummate host, political genius, and absolutely ruthless. 

Hermione had once overheard a conversation that Pansy Parkinson had with Daphne Greengrass in the library during 6th year. Parkinson had still been trying to woo Malfoy, and Greengrass had been lending a sympathetic ear. Parkinson had been so legitimately afraid of having tea with Lady Malfoy that she had begun crying.

“You’re quite welcome Miss Granger. I believe you have plans to go to St. Mungo’s and conduct the same ritual? You won’t be able to do it today. I suspect you’ll need a pepper-up potion in order to get you home. You’ll probably be able to do the ritual again tomorrow.” Dangling between delicate fingers was a vial of pepper up that Hermione took gratefully.

Lady Malfoy gave a satisfied nod, and watched as Hermione downed the potion with a careful eye. That keen gaze then refocused on Harry.

“Harry, I expect you will accompany Miss Granger to St. Mungo's when she goes.”

Hermione opened her mouth to object, to insist that Harry had better things to do other than babysit her. But Harry was nodding before Lady Malfoy finished her sentence, and his quelling look at her made her snap her mouth closed. Obviously arguing with him would not be fruitful.

She was quickly learning that he was just as stubborn as she was. Plus, it had been a command from Lady Malfoy. She didn’t think that she would be able to ignore such a command either.

Lady Malfoy gave them both a sharp nod and strode gracefully from the workroom. Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That was the most intimidating woman she had even been in the presence of.

Quince, who had been hovering nearby, obviously eavesdropping on their conversation with Lady Malfoy rushed to fill the void left by the regal woman.

“Hermione, that was reckless and dangerous, what do you have to say for yourself, young woman?” Scolded Quince.

Hermione gave the ghost a crooked smile. “Nothing old man. Don’t forget, you love regaling me with stories of your adventures and exploits. Compared to those, my actions were practically nun-like.”

Quince let out a sharp bark of a laugh and nodded, ruefully. “I know Hermione. But I was worried. Even I felt the blast of magic that came out when you broke the ward. I can’t imagine having physical form and being as close to the explosion as you were.”

“I’m fine Quince, just a little banged up. I’ll be totally recovered by tomorrow.” 

The ghost smoothed a hand over his wild eyebrows, looking shaken. She wished she could pat Quince on the hand to comfort him. She settled for a smile she hoped was reassuring.

Quince gave her a strained smile in return, and then sobered as a thought came to him. “You still have to break the ward so that the Unspeakables in St. Mungo’s can be healed.”

“I know. I’ll go tomorrow. I don’t think I can do much more than get home and fall into bed right now,” Hermione sighed out. She felt bad that the poor researchers would be spending more time in their cursed state, but she had the feeling if she tried to break another ward she would seriously injure herself. Besides, with the way that Harry was hovering protectively, she doubted he would let her do much more than walk slowly to the apparition point at this time.

“Good,” said Quince, nodding firmly. “They can wait a few more hours. I’ll return to my research now.” He hesitated for a second, lingering. “Please take care of yourself Hermione. You’re very precious.” With that he floated away, and Hermione was sure that if the ghost could blush he would be doing so now.

“I’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s and then back into the room with the box and use the pyramid then,” she muttered, voicing her thoughts and bringing her hand to to her forehead. She was not looking forward to trying to open the box if only breaking the ward took so much out of her.

Harry’s broad warm hand curled gently around her jaw. “Not today Hermione.”

She dropped her hand and nuzzled into the touch. She nodded in agreement and sighed. “I know, not today.”

They sat in silence for a minute as she tried to gather her thoughts.

“I should go back home,” she finally said softly, “I’m pretty useless for anything right now.”

“I agree,” said Harry, tucking a curl behind her ear.

She briefly contemplated telling him that he should have left her alone, that being so close, her in her lap on the narrow cot was inappropriate. That by coddling her like this, he was undermining her independence and power as the leader of this group. But she also knew that Quince wouldn’t judge her, that Malfoy was so close to Harry that he probably wouldn’t say anything either. And Nagnok had already been taken to the Goblin Realm so had been spared the worst of Harry’s affections. So instead she leaned her cheek against his shoulder and decided that would be a conversation for another day.

After a few seconds Hermione had steeled herself enough to brave standing and getting home. She shifted her body and Harry helped her up. It was an unwieldy and awkward process, as she was still tangled on Harry’s lap. Before she could accidentally put an elbow somewhere unfortunate, Malfoy had come over from where he had been reading and offered her a hand up. She took it gratefully, and was surprised that the blond also was giving her a concerned look.

“You certainly took a few years off of Harry’s life,” said Malfoy wryly.

Hermione offered him a pinched smile. “The process only partially went to plan,” she admitted.

“I’ll say,” said Harry with a sigh, levering himself up to stand behind Hermione, one hand resting gently on her hip, ostensibly in an attempt to steady her, but probably actually in an attempt just to touch her and be close to her. She could certainly sympathize with the impulse. The second between when she had stood and when he had followed, when they had stopped touching for that moment, that instant of separation had caused her to feel cold and almost bereft.

The idea of not being near him caused a pain in her chest. She wondered idly if that was from the bond or if it was because she knew how wonderful it was to bask in his warmth.

“So Granger, any more spectacles I should anticipate?” asked Draco as he walked with Harry and Hermione to the workroom door.

“None planned. I was thinking of taking the show on the road tomorrow,” Hermione offered with a grin. “I need to go to St. Mungo's. I need to help those poor researchers.”

Harry clapped Malfoy on the shoulder in goodbye, and he and Hermione made their way to the lifts, his hand secured on her lower back. It felt as hot and heady as it had the first time he did it. But now there was also something comforting and protective about it that made Hermione’s stomach twist in an entirely pleasant way.

The trip to the common apparition points was brief and silent, and she was grateful that they didn’t run into anyone she knew, given how haggard she was sure she must look.

Reaching the apparition room, Hermione turned to Harry, an awkward smile playing around the corners of her mouth. 

“Thank you for all your help today, she said, placing a hand on the lapel of his robe that she was charmed to see was a little wrinkled from their time on the cot together.

“I’m not going to let you apparate by yourself,” Harry said with a frown.

“Well I’m in no shape to side apparate,” Hermione retorted, brow furrowed. She was relatively confident that she could get herself home. But just then a head rush came over her and she swayed a little on her feet. So on second thought, maybe not.

She changed tactics. “Well you don’t know where I live and I don’t have a fireplace that’s hooked up to the floo network, so how do you propose we get there?” Asked Hermione tartly.

A blush had bloomed on Harry’s cheeks, “I—I sort of know where you live. I—” he broke off and one of his hands went to rub the back of his neck, a tell he was embarrassed if Hermione saw it.

“You know where I live?” Hermione asked, drawing out the last word skeptically. Well this was interesting. If she didn’t already trust Harry so much, probably a foolish amount, she would be very alarmed right now. She should be very alarmed right now.

“Yeah, and I—” Harry broke off again, obviously not at all comfortable with this conversation. “And I went and—and took a look”

Hermione’s eyebrows were close to her hairline in surprise. “You came to my house. Without me knowing. Why?”

“It was security concerns,” said Harry, his voice edging on defensive.

“Security concerns” Hermione repeated, still skeptical.

Harry nodded and dropped the hand from his neck to his side. His fist opened and closed repeatedly, obviously discomfited.

“There was a concern that you living in a Muggle area would be a security liability given the sensitive nature of the project and the importance of your role in it.” 

Hermione pursed her lips in though. The explanation made sense, but Harry’s embarrassment about the situation didn’t. It would make sense that they did background investigation about her, and it would make sense that the investigation included going to her home and checking it out. But it was weird that the head of the DMLE had done that investigation personally. Which probably meant that he had snatched up the assignment himself.

“Okay,” said Hermione, voice clear and not angry.

“Okay?” Harry parroted, tilting his head in confusion. “Okay? I just admitted to pretty much stalking you, and all you have to say is ‘okay’?”

“Yes. Okay.” She grinned up at him, amused by his discomfort. “You had a job to do, it makes sense that you wanted to make sure that where I lived was not a security threat.”

She took a breath and her blush matched his. “Plus, if it had been me, I would have done the same thing,” she admitted.

His smile was soft and she looked away to try to calm her blush.

“Okay.” He said and took her hand. 

He apparated her to the alley near her house, just a few feet away from the place she normally apparated,

He continued to hold her hand as they made their way to her building.

The warm summer breeze on her face was pleasant and the sun on her skin was delightful. It had been a while since she had left work while it was still light out, and she found that it was a delightful feeling. 

They reached the front door to her building and Hermione turned, prepared to say her goodbyes.

She opened her mouth and Harry shook his head. “I’m walking you up to your apartment. I know there’s no lift in this flat. I’m not going to have you weak as a kitten, falling down these stairs love, not after Aunty Cissa put so much hard work into putting you right.”

“Fine,” Hermione pouted. But really she was pleased, and the pout dropped off her face in half a second, replaced with a small smile.

By the time they reached the door to her flat, she was glad that he had insisted on accompanying her, she was winded and had almost fallen twice,

One hand on the doorknob, she turned to tell Harry goodbye for real this time. She had the fleeting desire to invite him in for tea, but then suppressed the impulse. Her mother was home, and there is no way she could subject Harry to her mother. Not yet. She would need to explain, and there would be a whole conversation that they would have to have in order to prepare him.

All thoughts of goodbye fled almost as quickly as they had come. When Hermione leaned on the door to brace herself, the door swung in, making Hermione stagger as the support was gone. Harry caught her, but she hardly noticed, a sinking feeling starting in her throat and making its way to her stomach. 

The door wasn’t supposed to be unlocked. The door was always locked. Joyce may have barely been functioning, but she was always security conscious, for the door to be unlocked, something bad must have happened.

Hermione found a second wind, fueled by panic and adrenaline and darted inside, wand held aloft.

“Mum?” She called, going from room to room, “Joyce?”

The apartment was empty, and Hermione did two checks of all the rooms to be certain. 

Her mother wasn’t there. 

Her heartbeat was frantic and she pressed her palms into her eyes trying to think. Joyce hadn’t let the apartment by herself in over a year. There was little to no chance that her mother had decided to pick today to just go out on a walk. 

A large warm palm landed on her shoulder and Hermione jerked her head up to meet Harry’s worried gaze.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice low and concerned.

“My—my mum. She should be here. She—” her voice hitched, and she ruthlessly tried to quash her emotions. It wasn’t the time, not when her mother was missing. “She doesn’t leave the house, she wouldn’t leave the door unlocked, something must be wrong. I need—I need to call the nursing service, they should be here too right now.”

Harry gave her a firm nod, and she took momentary reassurance from how calm he looked. 

“You make your calls, and I’ll call into the Aurors to see if they know what’s going on.”

Hermione’s nod was much more jerky than Harry’s had been. She ducked out of his grasp and made her way to where she had dropped her purse. Her old cell phone was there, turned off. It never worked in the Ministry so she always shut it off to preserve its battery life. Her hands shook as she cupped her cell, waiting for it to fully turn on. As soon as the home screen came up, she pushed the buttons to access her directory, looking for the number for the nursing service,

She found it, and the service answered on the first ring.

“Hello? This is Hermione Granger. My mother uses your service, and she is missing from our apartment. Do you—”

* * *

Harry watched as Hermione spoke in frantic tones into the phone she held in a shaking hand. The person on the other end of the line said something that made Hermione’s shoulders slump in something that looked like relief, but was not quite right.

“Which hospital?” Hermione asked, tangling her free hand in her hair. “Okay. Okay. I understand. Why didn’t someone call—okay.” She hung up without saying goodbye, and met Harry’s eyes, a frightened look in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Harry felt hopeless. He had known she lived with her mother, but not of her mother’s obviously poor health, given that the woman had a nursing service and never left the house.

“I’m not sure yet. The nursing service said there was an accident and that Joyce, that my mother, had been transported to hospital. They didn’t know the details.”

Hermione dropped her cell on the floor and brought her other hand to her hair as well. Her normally tanned skin had taken on a pale cast. Harry crossed the room to get to her, to hold her, to comfort her. Seeing her distressed like this made his urge to clutch her to him near unbearable.

He brought a hand to cup her neck and he could feel her pulse flutter under his fingers.

“Okay,” he said, in a tone of voice he hoped was soothing. “We’ll go to hospital to see what happened. We’ll get you some answers.”

Hermione nodded absently, obviously lost in thought.

He grabbed her phone from the floor and put it in her bag, settling her bag over his shoulder. 

She looked so lost, so upset, he just wanted to make it all better. 

‘Where is the hospital?” He asked, stepping closer to Hermione.

“It’s a couple of blocks away.” She said, still distracted. “I can’t apparate us there, but it’s a short walk.”

Harry nodded and took up her hand, lacing their fingers together. He led her out the door and down the stairs. When they got to the outside of her complex, he gently asked her what direction the hospital was in. She raised their joined hands and pointed. It was the large building in the distance and they made their way there in silence. 

He was unsure what he could say. For all his battles and loss, he had never had anything like this happen. His parents were dead before he knew them, and Sirius and Remus had never been in harm like this. He’s never had to go visit them at St. Mungo’s and he’d never prayed to Magic that they come out of the hospital alive. 

Glancing down at her, he could see that she still had a glazed expression on her face. He took charge as they reached the reception area.

“We were told that her mother was here? Joyce Granger?” The keys of the receptionist’s computer clacked as she typed the name into the database

“Yes, she’s under observation right now. I just need to collect some information from you.”

The receptionist got Hermione’s contact information and made her the next of kin listed in the hospital’s records so that she would be alerted to any change in her mother’s situation. Hermione gave the answers to the questions in a detached voice and Harry could tell that she was largely unaware of what was happening around her.

After what felt like a thousand questions, but was really only just five, the receptionist looked up from her screen and gestured to a sitting area off to one side. “If you’ll take a seat in the lobby, I can have the doctor down in about fifteen minutes or so.” 

Harry nodded his understanding and ushered Hermione to the sitting area the receptionist had indicated.

He chafed her cool hand between his two warm ones. The motion woke something in Hermione, and she looked up at him, tears in her eyes. He pressed his lips together in sympathy, unsure of what to say. Instead he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, grateful and letting him take some of her weight, some of her worries.

* * *

The doctor came around later. How much later Hermione couldn’t really say. The only thing she could think of was what if she had killed her mother. What if she had killed her by not pushing hard enough for Joyce to get more help. What if she had killed her by not forcing her to go into care. What if she had killed her by not making her get on medication. What if she had killed her by not demanding she get therapy. What if whatever happened to have her wind up at the hospital was her fault?

Harry’s arm around her helped comfort her as they waited together.

“Miss Granger?” An older woman in a white coat emerged from a side door, reviewing a medical chart.

Hermione stood mechanically, Harry close at her side. The older woman saw the movement and walked briskly over to them.

“Miss Granger, your mother was brought in via ambulance at approximately 11:23 AM. The visiting nurse was unable to rouse your mother from bed and called emergency services. She was breathing but non responsive to attempts to rouse her. We diagnosed her as having had a transient ischemic attack. This is also called a ministroke. It is a short interruption of blood flow to a part of the brain. The interruption is brief because the blood clot dissolves quickly on its own. We are unsure if there are any lasting effects at this point, and are keeping her under observation for at least a few days.”

Hermione nodded, trying to process the information. “You said that lasting effects are unclear right now. Do you know when you might know more about what her recovery might look like?”  
  
“Right now it’s unclear, we are still investigating if there might be any underlying causes. I know that the nurse reported that she has a history of limited mobility and smoking. Does she have any other pre-existing conditions?”

“She has pre-existing mental health conditions,” she was embarrassed that Harry was hearing so much about her family’s dirty laundry, but his support felt like it was the only thing holding her up. “Since my father died year ago she has been heavily depressed, agoraphobic, and experiences severe mood swings. I’ve tried to get her to agree to counseling or medication, or really any kind of help, but she’s always refused. She doesn’t qualify for care because she can still be self-sufficient when she’s in a good spell. But she has been very ill for quite a while now.

Harry squeezed her hand in support, but she didn’t dare look at him. If she did, she had a feeling she might start crying and not stop. Her mother had been very difficult for a very long time now, but she was still her mother, she still loved her. And she felt responsible. She hadn’t been home, she hadn’t been checking in with the nurses as much.

The doctor made notes on the chart as Hermione spoke. “That is good information to have. Unfortunately you aren’t able to visit her now, as she’s still undergoing tests in the ICU. The earliest you can come visit will be the day after tomorrow. Given the history you gave us, we’re also going to have her undergo a psych evaluation if she is coherent.”

“Do you know now how long she might be in hospital?”

“At least a couple of days, if not longer. I would also bank on her being transferred to a longer term care facility after she is released from the hospital to finish her recovery. I would assume that at the earliest she would be able to go home in a few weeks to a few months.”  
  
“Thank you for all your help doctor.” Hermione said, voice dull and detached. Her shoulders slumped and Harry put an arm around her. He ushered her out of the waiting room and all those curious gazes to the corner outside the hospital, which was blissfully empty. 

He looked around to make sure that they were well hidden and not being observed before he disapparated with her. She was so distraught she didn’t even think to object to the change in scenery.

They landed in a lovely library, all leather and dark wood. She caught a glance of built in bookshelves that went all the way to the top of very high ceilings before he guided her to a comfortable sofa.

She sat without protest. Again he put his arm around her shoulders and she turned into his warmth. He pulled her so that she was tucked up close to him, practically in his lap. He ran his hand down her back and she shuddered into him, tears pooling in her eyes. She tried to will herself not to cry.

She was upset her mother was ill, but she also felt relief. That at least for a few days there would be other people taking care of her mother, that professionals might actually be able to get her mother to accept help, maybe even get her into the sort of assisted living she obviously needed. And that made her feel profoundly guilty. How dare she feel relief that her mother was ill and hospitalized? How dare that make her hopeful?

The tears slipped out unbidden, and soon she found herself sobbing into Harry’s shirt. He didn’t try to shush her, or get her to stop crying. He just held her as she cried herself out, stroking her back and pressing gentle kisses into her hair.

After a while her sobs eased, and she found herself just breathing in his scent. She found it grounding. 

Hermione pulled back, her hand on his heart. He gave her a sad smile and she gave him a watery smile.

“Thank you. I’m sorry about all of this,” she gestured with her hand, encompassing her teary face, her ruined mascara, and her general disheveled state. Now that the worst of it was over, she felt embarrassed that Harry had been forced to hold her through her family drama. He must think that she’s terrible, that she was a terrible daughter that she—

“You’re so strong,” Harry murmured, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. She raised her eyebrows and regarded him skeptically.

“You’ve been taking care of your mother through all this, you’ve been holding the weight of the world on your shoulders. And you’re brilliant and kind, and so so wonderful. I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry this yourself.”

Tears came to her eyes again, and she buried her face against his shoulder.

After a few more minutes she felt all cried out, for real this time.

“Thank you,” Hermione croaked out. Harry conjured her a glass of cool water with a sweep of his want and she took it gratefully.

“I’m sorry for—” Harry hesitated, looking chagrinned, “I just apparated you to my home without asking you if that was okay. That was rather high handed of me. But I wanted to take you somewhere safe and I wasn’t sure if the wards around your house would let me apparate in.”

“Thank you,” Hermione repeated, bringing a hand to wipe at her eyes. She drew her wand and conjured a wet towel to run over her face, in part to make sure she didn’t have mascara marks running down her cheeks, but also to try to minimize how red and puffy her eyes tended to get after a crying jag.

They sat in silence and Harry continued to stroke her back.

“I can’t—” Hermione broke off, looking down at her hands that were twisting the washcloth.

“I’m not asking,” Harry said in a low voice, his hand not stopping the smooth stroke of his hand from her shoulders to her hips and back up again.

“I’ll tell you one day. I just. I can’t right now.”

“When you’re ready I’ll be here.”

She believed him too. She settled back against him. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him, it was that this was still so new. Trusting him with her body, even being vulnerable in a romantic way was fine. But being this sort of vulnerable, this sort of intimate, no, not yet. Her shoulder hunched at the thought.

Harry pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, and she relaxed into the contact. 

“You can stay here tonight,” Harry offered.

Hermione shook her head almost immediately. “No, thank you, but no. I appreciate the offer, but I need a little time alone. And I have some calls to make.”

Harry was looking down at her, a frown furrowing his brow. She reached a hand up and cupped his cheek.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Harry nodded and she tried to stand and detangle herself from him. Her foot was a little bit asleep, so she stumbled as she stood, but he caught her before she could fall. She smiled at him, grateful.

“So,” Hermione said, aiming for a lighter tone, “where are we?”

“Oh, uh, we’re in my library. In Llŷr Keep.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione breathed out. She took a second to look around. It really was spectacular. This was the sort of library that she had dreamt of as a child. There were volumes and volumes of books, going all the way up to the ceiling. She could see that some looked to be so ancient that they were bound together like the monks bound bibles in the dark ages. But she also saw a row of very modern looking paperbacks, some of which she recognized as muggle.

Her body carried her to one of the shelves and she ran her fingers over the spines of the books. They were cool against her touch, and every now and then one of them would hum with magic, telling her that it was a spell book, or a book otherwise imbued with magic.

“Oh, I could spend days here.”

“You will. I promise.” Hermione could hear something in his voice. It was almost an ache, a desperate want, and she felt the echo of it hit deep in her gut.

“I know,” she looked over her shoulder and met his hungry gaze. She would one day spend days here. This would one day be her home. Harry had made it plain that he wanted her. And she wanted him. This one day would be theirs.

Harry was suddenly behind her, his bulk at her back so close that she could feel the body heat radiating off of him.

He wrapped one hand possessively around her hips and turned her so that she faced him. He walked her backwards until her back was against the bookshelf. He was so close that she was forced to look up at him. That hungry look was still in his eyes.

“You will,” he repeated, with more heat this time.

Her mouth curled up into a smile. “Yes, I will.”

He was looking at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real, and his fingers pressing into her hips led her to believe that he was hanging on to her so tightly to reassure himself that she was there, she was with him, that they had a future.

She went up on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss into the corner of his mouth. He turned slightly and caught her lips fully.

Hermione had read a lot of romance novels. She remembered scoffing at the descriptions of a couple’s first kiss as electric, or somehow spectacular. She had shared kisses with other people, and while some had been pleasant, they had ultimately just been two people putting their lips together. Nothing special.

But this, this was a revelation. Maybe it was the bond, but Hermione suspected that it was something that was just Harry. It felt like a fire was racing through her veins and she wrapped her arms around his neck to ensure she wouldn’t be swept away.

His hand drew her hips in closer, the other laced through her hair, and ran his tongue across the seam of her lips she whimpered at the sensation, letting him in. As he deepened the kiss she clung to him fiercely. This was Magic, this was _everything_. 

Almost as soon as they started, he pulled back. She looked up at him, confused and panting, her lips red and swollen from his attentions.

Bringing his hand down from her hair he pressed his thumb against the swell of her bottom lip reverentially. His breathing was ragged and his pupils were blown wide with lust. Hermione pressed a kiss into the pad of his thumb.

“I should take you home,” Harry said, eyes still on her lips, “I want to continue this, but…” he trailed off, and she smiled at the care and courtesy he was showing her. Despite her raging hormones which were begging her to throw him on the couch and have her way with him, she knew now wouldn’t be the time, not when her emotions were so high for other reasons and she was distracted. When they did this, she wanted to make sure that he was the only thing on her mind.

She pulled back slightly, “yes, you probably should.” She couldn’t help herself, she leaned in and pressed a sweet and tender kiss to his lips again before removing herself from his grasp, and taking a step towards the library doors.

“Will your wards let me disapparate?” 

Harry’s hand went to the back of his neck and he gave her an embarrassed smile, the same sort he gave her when he admitted he knew where she lived. “Yes. Actually the wards will also let you apparate in. I added you to them a few days ago.”

Her hand went to run over his broad shoulders, which had hunched slightly at his admission. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you,” she said, smiling.

He returned her smile and his shoulders dropped, becoming noticeably less stiff. “Let’s get you home then.”

Hermione nodded, and Harry side-along apparated her to the alley by her apartment. Again, retracing the path from earlier, he walked her to her apartment door.

“You’ll be okay?” He asked, eyes searching, a concerned furrow to his brow. He reached for her hands with his, giving them a gentle and reassuring squeeze.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. If I need anything I’ll let you know.”

Harry leaned in and kissed first to the crown of her head, then her forehead, and then gently pressed a kiss against the corner of her mouth.

She smiled at him, trust and adoration clear in her gaze.

He watched as she entered her apartment and shut the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one fought me more than I thought it would, hence the length and the lack of family dinner. But because it fought me and I wrote so much, I'll have another chapter up soon (probably this weekend). That will be the family dinner chapter. 
> 
> Again, I just want to reiterate how incredibly grateful I am to all of you. This is so much fun, and every single one of you help make it that way.
> 
> As always I hope all of you are staying safe and taking care of yourselves!
> 
> Thank you 
> 
> ~Ely


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione visits St. Mungo's again. Dinner with Sirius and Remus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am truly overwhelmed by the support and love this fic has gotten. I can't tell you how grateful and appreciative I am of every single one of you.
> 
> You can follow me/ask me questions/correct my grammar on [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)

**August 15, 2008**

Hermione woke up the next morning, groggy from a night of near sleeplessness.

She had spent the evening making a series of phone calls. 

First to Joyce’s nursing service to get a better idea of what had happened, and to ensure that service was put on hold for the time being. 

After finishing her conversation with the nurses she had called her mother’s remaining friends. They were few and far between, and really none of them had been in touch in more than nine months. They had come around at first, right after Philip had died, but those visits trickled off as it became more and more clear that Joyce wasn’t recovering from her husband’s death. But still, she knew that her mother would want them to know.

She then called to check in with the hospital again. There had been no update. But her mother was in stable condition. The nurse told her that when Joyce woke up there would be a better idea of how the stroke might have affected her.

Hermione had got into bed feeling like she was floating above her own body. Her detachment was punctuated by relief, and then a wave of guilt. The feelings from earlier in the day re-emerged. How dare she feel relieved that her mother was ill? A good daughter wouldn’t feel this way. The critical voice nagging her bore a striking resemblance to Joyce’s voice when she got in a snit.

She did her best to shake it off. She knew that her feelings of relief were normal and valid. She had been playing caretaker for three years. This was the first break she had since she came back to care for her father. 

Even knowing that her feelings were justified, sleep had been elusive. She had tossed and turned, and had only drifted off in the early hours of the morning.

When she had woken to her alarm at 6am she had not felt her best. However, she knew from experience that she needed to take her mind off of everything, so she proceeded to get ready for a day at work.

As she was standing in front of her closet, it suddenly hit her. 

She had dinner with Lord Black and his Consort tonight. 

It momentarily sent her into a tizzy. 

Harry had said casual, but what did casual mean to an Earl? Anything but a hoopskirt? She rifled through her closet half a dozen times before settling on a slightly nicer variation of her everyday work wear, a skirt and a shirt. Really it just meant that none of her things were creased or ink stained, and that they all fit properly. 

She was still a bit frantic as she apparated into the lobby of the Ministry. She was making her way to the lifts when a broad hand caught her by the elbow. She looked up and her honey brown eyes met a vivid green gaze. She felt her whole body relax, as if his touch was a hot bath she had sunk into.

“I wanted to catch you before you started work.” He pulled her over to a corner of the atrium, glancing around quickly to ensure there was no one nearby before casting a notice-me-not spell. 

“How are you?” He moved his hand from her elbow to cup the side of her neck, his palm on her pulse point.

“I’m fine. Actually, I’m good.” Her voice was only a little breathless, and she attributed it more to his closeness than any real distress.

He quirked his eyebrow at her and pressed his lips together, clearly unconvinced. 

“It would be okay if you weren’t. It would be okay if you took the day off. I know we have dinner with Dad and Remus today but—”

“No,” she said, firmly. She met his probing gaze and gave him a small smile. “My mother is getting the help she needs. There’s nothing I can do for her right now other than continue to live my life. I want to go to dinner tonight, it will help keep my mind off everything. It will be a delightful distraction. I promise, I’m fine.”

He still looked worried, but his jaw had relaxed and his thumb began rubbing soothing circles into the delicate skin behind her ear.

“Okay,” he said, pulling his hand away from her neck reluctantly, “we’ll leave after our evening meeting.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she replied, smiling up at him “are you going to accompany me to St. Mungo’s today?”

Harry gave her a soft smile

“Yes, but I just wanted to check in first.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Hermione said, and rose to her tiptoes to press a kiss into his cheek. His scruff scratched her lips in a way that sent an unexpected shot of desire down her spine. 

Harry’s eyes were hungry as he followed her retreat, his eyes on her lips. 

He physically shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and Hermione’s smile turned sly, happy to see that she affected him as much as he affected her.

“I have to pick something up from my office, but I’ll meet you by the floo in 15 minutes?”

Hermione nodded in the affirmative, and they parted ways.

* * *

Harry was relieved. Hermione had been more relaxed than he had expected her to be. He had been prepared to send her home, but she said she wanted to work, and he wasn’t going to disrespect her by second guessing her decision without a real reason to do so.

His quick trip back to his office allowed him to send word to Sirius and Remus that dinner was still on, and to pick up some files he needed to review.

The Aurors were a constant headache. While Zacharias Smith was still on leave pending a decision about termination, it had come out that he had friends in high places. Harry had received no less than a dozen owls, floo calls, and in person visits from members of the Wizengamot and other high profile individuals in the Wizarding world. All of them cajoled, asked, demanded, or begged him to reconsider Smith’s termination.

Former Prime Minister Fudge had come out of retirement just to attempt to coax Harry into dropping the investigation.

All the interventions had done was ensure that Harry kept special tabs on the team investigating Smith and the other internal investigations going on in the Auror corp.

It was suspicious. On the surface Zacharias Smith was not the sort to merit such high level meddling. He was a half-blood from a working class family and was not a member of the aristocracy on either side. He had been a Hufflepuff, who according to his file, got average grades and didn’t distinguish himself either at school or at work.

So how did he get an article lauding his behavior written about him in the Daily Prophet by Rita Skeeter herself?

Putting the mystery to the back of his mind, Harry gathered his files and told his secretary where he would be for the day.

He met Hermione, Nagnok, and Penelope Weasley by the floos. Hermione and Penelope were discussing a theory that went way over his head as he approached. It struck him again how brilliant she was. And how beautiful she looked when she was passionate about something. Her cheeks were pleasantly pink, and her eyes practically gave off sparks. 

Not wanting to interrupt, he gave a respectful nod to both of them and said hello to Nagnok.

Hermione offered him a smile in acknowledgement and the warmth of it settled under his breast bone.

One uncomfortable floo journey later, they had arrived in the private wing of St. Mungo’s, where the researchers were being housed. No matter how many times he used floo to travel, Harry still hated it. Inevitably there would be soot everywhere and his eyes would sting.

They were met at the floo entrance by Healer Theo Nott. The other man cut a dashing figure in his Healer’s robes and his expression was the calm mask that Harry had come to expect from all members of Wizarding nobility. But the other man’s impatience was betrayed by the frequency his eyes went to the nearest clock.

“Good morning all, Miss Granger, I hear you were successful in breaking the ward yesterday?” Healer Nott asked, tone all business.

“Yes Nott, it was. It was rather draining so I couldn’t do it again until today.”

Theo Nott offered Hermione a charming smile and his arm in a display of aristocratic manners. Harry scowled slightly behind his back. He knew it was just polite, but he still wanted to pout about it.

Reminding himself that he was both a grown man and the head of the DMLE, Harry schooled his features into causal indifference and missed how Nagnok rolled his eyes at the human’s antics.

Nott led them to a heavily warded room in the hospital. It reminded Harry a bit of the room the box was kept in at the Ministry. There were runes carved into the door, and once they stepped inside he could see that there were runes on the walls and floor as well. But instead of runes for protection and secrecy, these were runes of healing, containment, and safety.

Hermione took control of the situation immediately.

“Okay, I need all the patients in a separate area, away from anything that a blast of magic may disturb. So any fragile instruments and all non essential personnel need to be moved out.”

Nott gestured for the three Mediwitches in the room to follow Hermione’s instructions and he began levitating various pieces of equipment in the room out of the way.

Harry found a play out of the way by the door and admired the efficiency that Hermione employed. He knew that he would be more in the way than a real help at this moment, so he took the opportunity just to observe Hermione in action.

Hermione was like a general commanding troops, no nonsense, and fully aware of what all her subordinates were up to. Penelope was helping to clear the room, and Nagnok was going over the runic sequence to be used with Hermione one last time.

Before long, everything was set up and ready. Nagnok, Penelope, Healer Nott and he were the only people in the room aside from the patients and Hermione.

He was caught off guard by the patients despite reading all the reports on the condition of the researchers.

It was wildly disconcerting to see someone on fire and no one doing anything to put it out.

Hermione began the same ritual she had done the day before, tracing runes around the injured researchers with her wand. This room had windows, so the glow that the symbols cast was not as dramatic as it had been yesterday.

This circle was larger than the one around the box had been, and Harry hoped that wouldn’t affect the outcome of the ritual. Hermione looked focused and unconcerned, so he was sure it would be fine.

Hermione was at the center of a storm of magic. The edges of the runes she had cast reached towards her, like needy children clinging to their mother. Every time she cast a new rune it would hold on for a second to the end of her wand, as if the magic did not wish to part from her. 

It was disconcerting, and despite his extensive experience investigating dark magic and ancient rituals, it made Harry nervous. Hermione did not seem to notice the strange behavior of the magic, she was too focused on her task. 

Harry winced as Hermione sliced open her palm. He clenched his hands into fists and could feel the half moon indentations on his palms being left by his fingernails.

She walked from patient to patient, dropping blood on their foreheads. Harry’s mind briefly flashed to the baptism rituals of muggle religions he had learned about. Her blood ran down their faces and then disappeared, as if it was absorbed into their skin.

When she reached the last researcher, Harry felt a less intense version of the blast of magic he had experienced the day before. This time everyone was forced back by the wall of magic, but they all managed to keep their feet.

Hermione swayed slightly and Harry crossed the room to steady her, his hand going to her waist.

She smiled up at him, grateful.

“Thank you. That was much easier than the last one, and I’m not nearly so tired.”

Nott bustled over, wand out, to check on his patients. The one that had been on fire was no longer actively burning, but the real test would be if Nott was able to heal them magically. Harry watched as all three men were healed, cuts disappearing from their faces, their expression going from pained to comfortable.

Nott then came over to check on Hermione. 

“The ritual worked. I was able to heal all the men. I’ll be keeping them for observation, but they are all good as new.”

Nott flicked his wand, performing a diagnostic charm on Hermione. The Healer nodded, satisfied with the results of the scan.

“You are probably going to sleep very well tonight, and I’m going to give you a pepper up potion, but otherwise you’re perfectly healthy. Just let me heal your hand,” said Nott.

Harry was going to claim that privilege for himself, but remembered that Aunt Cissa had had to do it again after he did it yesterday, so he kept his mouth shut and settled for tucker Hermione in closer to him.

Nott’s movements were clinical and detached, and the way Hermione leaned against him soothed his worries over how much magic she had just conducted through ritual.

The Healer gave Hermione a Pepper-Up potion that she downed without objection. She shuddered against Harry as the potion took affect and then straightened. She patted him on the chest gently and then pulled away. Harry let her go, but his fingertips trailed across her lower back as she stepped out of his grasp.

Harry resumed his spot by the door and watched as Hermione oversaw tests on the injured researchers to attempt to check if there had been any adverse effects from the ritual.

It looked like she might be a while so Harry began reviewing the files he brought, one eye on Hermione as she flitted around the room from patient to patient.

* * *

Back at the workroom, Hermione spent the rest of the day going through the research she had conducted on the pyramid while still working at the Junkshop. 

She had paused to eat lunch, but only because someone had literally shoved a sandwich in her hand as she was working through an arithmancy equation regarding the runes on the pyramid. She had eaten without even tasting it before returning directly to work.

It felt like it had been months since she touched the research, like working in the Junkshop had been a whole other life. In reality it had been a little over two weeks. The difference between her reality then and her reality now were striking.

She was talking through some of the questions that she had been left with in her research with Nagnok and Quince when they had discovered something else odd about the pyramid.

No one but her could touch it.

That made her very nervous.

Nagnok was trying for the fourth time to grab the pyramid off of a work table when Harry entered. His eyebrows shot up as he watched Nagnok hover a hand over the pyramid only to be pushed back several feet by magic.

“Since when does it do that?” Harry asked, slowly approaching the table.

“Unclear,” bit out Hermione, eyes locked on the pyramid.

“Can I try?” Harry’s grin was reckless and made Hermione roll her eyes. Boys.

“Sure, I don’t see why not. Neither Nagnok nor Malfoy have been able to touch it so far.”

Harry rolled up his sleeves and the rest of the room stopped their work to watch him try his hand. He got within a couple of inches of the pyramid before a force pushed him back physically.

“Fascinating,” Hermione jotted down more notes.

She was in the middle of extrapolating on the theory of what sort of magic was at work when Harry cleared his throat and looked at her expectantly.

Hermione frowned at him, confused for a minute before remembering, dinner, of, right.

She looked at the time, astonished that the day had passed so quickly. She had gotten so caught up in her work she had forgotten to worry about dinner tonight. But as soon as she remembered it all came rushing back to her. 

Hermione started to pack up, eager to spend time with the men who had raised Harry, but also very terrified. Harry had said casual, but what if she was too casual? What if she read the room wrong? What if they didn’t like her? Lord Black had been kind and charming when they had met the other day, but what if he had just been being polite? What if he had no interest in actually having her over for dinner?

She smoothed her hand over her skit, in part to get the wrinkles out, but also to dry her palms which had become sweaty.

Harry approached her from behind and she was enveloped both by his warmth, but also by his scent. Sandalwood, the sea, and something spicy and male. 

She felt his palm connect with her lower back, sending a jolt of electricity up her spine. She straightened and pressed her lips together in something she hoped was a smile. 

“You look beautiful, love,” Harry said, gentling a kiss on her temple. 

Her second attempt at a smile was much more genuine. 

She said her goodbyes to the team, who all had begun to pack up as well. Quince was off to spend the evening in his Junkshop to recharge, so everyone was actually leaving tonight. 

Hermione closed the door behind Quince and secured it. Getting everyone up had only taken five minutes in all. Maybe she was working then too hard? 

She shook of the thought and turned to face Harry. His hair was ruffled and she could see that he had decided to keep his scruff, which was undeniably attractive. 

The way he was smiling at her made her breath catch. She was caught by impulse and went on her toes, leaning in to give him a proper kiss. She felt him smile against her lips and his hand went to cup the back of her head. His tongue glided across her lower lip and made her sharply inhale, a spike of desire going to her core. 

Harry made a sound close to a growl deep in his chest and pushed her up against the closed workroom door, his free hand pulling her hips in close. 

Hermione whimpered, and both of them froze, suddenly aware of how public they were. Reluctantly, Harry pulled away, a blush coloring his cheeks as he cleared his throat. 

Hermione’s mouth twisted in a self satisfied smirk. She had made him lose control like that. It was rather gratifying. 

They walked to the apparition point in silence, so close their hands kept brushing. Every touch of skin on skin felt like a sparkler in her chest. 

As they arrived at the apparition point he gave her a reassuring smile which she did her best to return. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and they disapparated. 

* * *

They apparated into a sumptuously appointed entry way. Her eyes were drawn to the velvet curtains, to the gold framed portraits of stuffy old wizards—who were examining her with cool indifference—and to the man who was obviously waiting for their arrival. 

He had a professorial air about him, sandy blond hair just beginning to take on streaks of grey, and a face with scars that were more striking than disfiguring. He wasn’t as tall as Harry, but he held his back straight, perfectly at home in his own body.

A grin broke across the face of the other man as he surveyed Harry and Hermione.

“Welcome to 12 Grimmauld Place!” His voice was rich and his smile made her smile in return.

She offered him her hand and he took it in both of his, holding her hand more than shaking it.

“I’m Remus Black, it’s lovely to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you!”

His hands were callused from hard work and up close she could see that while his sweater was high quality, there were ink stains on the cuffs. These little details settled her stomach. They were minor imperfections she could relate to in a space where she felt like a foreigner. She felt her shoulders relax. 

Hermione had just released Remus’ hands when Lord Black waltzed in. He was dressed much more casual than he had been the last time she saw him. But then again, the last time she had seen him, he had been in full dress robes for the Wizengamot.

He was in muggle denims and an old band tee shirt. His bare feet on the polished wood would have been silent if he hadn’t announced his presence by shouting at the top of his lungs on his way down the grand staircase.

“Remus, is that my most adorable and squishy son I hear?

He stepped off the last step, smile wide.

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“I told you never to call me that in public,” Harry’s exasperation was good natured, but there was still a hint of pink high on his cheeks as he sighed at his father’s antics.

Lord Black slung an arm around Harry’s shoulder and ruffled the younger man’s hair.

“I never remember ever promising anything. I believe I said ‘perhaps’ when you requested that.”

Sirius turned towards Hermione and to her shock, wrapped her in a tight hug. 

“Hermione, it’s lovely to see you again, thank you so much for coming over. I was so eager to spend more time with you.”

Hermione’s eyebrows crept upward.

“Thank you Lord Black, it’s lovely to see you again too”

“Please, I told you, call me Sirius! Besides, my plan is to wine and dine you and then show you all of Harry’s embarrassing baby photos. And then the ones from when he was an angsty fourteen year old who refused to cut his hair. Those are gold,” Sirius said with a wink.

It was Remus’ turn to roll his eyes.

“As if he was not the cutest baby ever. That’s hardly embarrassing. Those teen photos though, those are another story. Now, let’s see if you managed to set the table properly Sirius.”

Sirius offered Hermione his arm with an elaborate bow. His grin was playful and his good mood was contagious. She smiled back at the older man and took his arm.

Harry trailed behind them with a bemused look on his face.

Sirius led her down a flight of stairs to a bright and warm kitchen. The table was set with what looked to be the finest china Hermione had ever eaten off of, but the table itself was rough hewn and obviously very loved. The edges of the table were smooth, worn down from being touched and the tabletop had dings proving it had been used for a very long time.

Sirius pulled out a chair for her with a flourish, and Harry settled in next to her. Sirius sat across from them as Remus served the meal, family style. The food was simple, but delicious. She complimented them on the meal and Sirius took credit until Remus elbowed him into silence, much to the amusement of everyone but Sirius. 

She got caught up in small talk easily. Both Remus and Sirius were charming and eager to know more about her, and Harry was good at facilitating easy conversation.

“You were a Gryffindor? Marvelous!” exclaimed Sirius, “That’s what we were, and so were James and Lily! I can’t tell you how worried we were you might be a snake!”

Remus topped off all their glasses of wine, shooting Sirius and exasperated but fond look.

“That’s a lie Sirius. You get along very well now with Lucius and Narcissa. And I know you’re quite fond of Draco,” said Remus, setting the wine bottle back on the table.

Sirius waved his hand, as if to dismiss that idea. 

“Irrelevant, they’re the exceptions that prove the rule.”

“I dunno Dad, back when it looked like I might go to Hogwarts I distinctly remember you telling me that whichever house I ended up in was fine,” Harry smirked at his father over his wine glass.

“A technicality. We all knew that you would have been sorted into Gryffindor.”

Remus hummed noncommittally and Sirius shot him a faux shocked look.

“How dare you besmitch my pup. He would’ve bled red and gold!”

Hermione offered Sirius a small smile of her own. “I don’t know Sirius, he’s very loyal and kind. He might have been a Hufflepuff.”

Sirius began to splutter as Harry laughed out loud.

“Or,” offered Remus mischievously, “he might have been a Slytherin, he’s ambitious and has pulled some very sneaky pranks of his own.”

“My son, attacked in my own home, how dare you!” Sirius declared dramatically.

“I think I would have looked dashing either in yellow and black or in silver and green,” said Harry, offering Hermione a playful wink.

“I’m sure you would have been, but I was also promised embarrassing teenage photos, so I’ll reserve judgement on how cute you might have been until I see those,” Hermione teased.

Harry threw his hands up in mock outrage. 

“I’m done for! Once you see those you’ll do a runner!”

Hermione laughed. Her cheeks hurt from all the smiling she had been doing. She could not remember a better meal in years.

Sirius cleared the table for dessert, waving away Hermione’s offer to help. Sirius brought out desert and served everyone a portion of warm fruit crumble and ice cream before resuming his seat.

“So,” said Sirius, leaning back in his chair, “I heard that Sir Avery is very unhappy with you, Harry.”

“He’s always unhappy with me,” said Harry, ruffling a hand through his hair, “first it was that I got the job as head of the DMLE over his son-in-law, who by the way, is a corrupt bastard. Then it was about the House Elf Protection bill, and now it’s that one of my Aurors is almost definitely getting fired for cursing an unarmed suspect and taking bribes.”

“He’s a dangerous man,” offered Remus seriously, “you know as well as I do that he’s gotten away with much more than he should’ve. Deep pockets and years of blackmail material are powerful tools.”

Harry sighed deeply and leaned back, his posture almost exactly mirroring Sirius’.

“I’m aware. I want to nail the bastard for something. But he’s slippery. He and Thicknesse both.”

“They’ve been asking questions,” said Sirius, his tone uncharacteristically quiet.

Harry’s head shot up and he examined his father closely.

If she hadn’t been watching she would have missed Sirius’ eyes flick to her and the back to Harry. Harry stiffened in his chair and his hand which had been resting on the table tightened into a white-knuckled fist. Her hand unconsciously and immediately went to his on the table. She smoothed her fingers over the back of his hand and he released his fist, turning his hand over and lacing their fingers together.

Harry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and she offered him what she hoped was a reassuring look in return.

“What sort of questions? And who are these men?” Hermione was proud of how business like her voice sounded.

Sirius’s full mouth turned down at the corners in a frown and he leaned forward in his chair.

“They’re Death Eaters, or near enough.”

That term sounded familiar, but Hermione took a second to place it.

“Followers of You-Know-Who?” She asked, her eyes going to Harry.

Harry was tracing circles on her palm with his thumb, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Yes.” Remus scowled. “Voldemort is long gone, but there are those who remain, those who still support his cause, those who would take up the banner again if another Dark Lord emerged from the shadows.”

Harry looked furious, but his hand on hers was gentle. 

“What that really means is that they’re bigotted idiots who should be rotting in Azkaban. If Fudge hadn’t been so easily bought off, we might have them already. I know they’re trying to cause trouble, what with the Ledger being compromised. But they shouldn’t have the clearance to even know about the project, let alone about who’s running it.”

“Well they must have sources somewhere,” said Sirius grimmly, “because I’ve received inquiries from their favorite stooges, and there’s a Wizangamot informational request about the matter that you’re going to have to deal with sooner or later.”

“Later then,” Harry huffed out, “I want to give Hermione as much time as possible to work before I have to alert the vultures that there’s a problem.”

Hermione frowned, trying to think out the situation.

“If these men were to find out what my actual job is, what I’m actually working on, do you suspect they would sabotage it?”

Sirius shrugged, but a worried line creased his forehead.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe they’d try to blackmail you into doing their bidding, or maybe they’d compromise one of your team members, or maybe they’d steal the box for themselves. I just know that those men are bad news, and the last people I want them around is the two of you, especially before you seal your compatibility”

Hermione worked hard to keep the look of surprise off of her face. She hadn’t expected Sirius to speak so openly about the magical connection and Harry and she had. It was something that she herself was still processing. She was so comfortable with Harry, being with him felt like being home. But he also made her unspeakably nervous, and not just the sexy kind of nervous that made her blush like a schoolgirl around him, but also the kind of nervous where she didn’t know if she should trust her own emotions.

She knew logically that he would have told other people about them, about their compatibility. But that had been an abstract thought, so for Sirius to be so openly discussing something she considered sensitive made her blink hard.

She tried to put the thought away, but she spent the rest of dessert with her mind half occupied, thinking about their compatibility, thinking about them. Could she really put her trust in Magic like Harry seemed to do?

Harry and Hermione volunteered to clean as Sirius and Remus went upstairs to the study to pour drinks for all four of them.

Without talking about it, they both gathered the dishes and began washing them the muggle way. They worked in silence for a second before the question burst from Hermione’s lips almost against her will.

“So you told Sirius? About us?”

Harry nodded, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, from his place at the sink.

“Did you tell anyone?” His tone was mild.

“Just Quince. Does anyone other than your family know?” Hermione did her best to make her question sound cool and relaxed.

“I told Draco”

“You told Draco?” Her voice was higher pitched than usual and she rocked slightly back on her heels, surprised.

“We’re close. I trust him with my life, have trusted him with my life.”

Hermione made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat. She knew that Harry and Draco had a relationship of some sort, but the idea of one of her childhood bullies having that sort of information about her, one who had at one point wished her dead, was a little disconcerting. It was one thing to be able to work with him in a professional capacity, and even to have pleasant conversations with him. It was another thing to reveal intimacies of her life.

Setting the plate he was washing down, Harry focused on Hermione, giving her a curious look.

“Why does Draco knowing make you uncomfortable?”

She dried the dish in her hand with the towel slowly to give herself time to think. 

“Did he ever tell you about what school was like for us?” Hermione finally asked.

Harry’s forehead crinkled in concentration. “I know he said he was a prick?”

Hermione bit her lip together to hold back a bitter laugh. 

“He was a prick. He was also the first person to call me mudblood. I had never even heard that word before. He told me that I didn’t belong at Hogwarts or in the magical world at all. That I was unworthy because my parents were muggles. The worst was during second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. He said I was going to be next, that he hoped that Slytherin’s monster would kill me.”

The look on Harry’s face was something akin to horror. His mouth was twisted and there was a deep crease between his brows.

Hermione held out a hand in a placating gesture. “I know he’s different now. He changed even when we were still in school. After second year he stopped being outright mean to me. He certainly wasn’t nice to me, but he ignored me, which was better than most. The worst of the people always came from my own house or Ravenclaw. He’s pleasant to work with, and a valuable member of my team, and I’m glad I chose him for this project. But can you understand why that makes me uncomfortable, to have him know something intimate about me like that?”

She was proud that she had kept her voice steady and firm. Despite the years between her and Hogwarts, she still didn’t enjoy thinking about her time there, remembering the scared and cowed little girl she had been forced to be to avoid the worst of the abuse. 

She had started school so vibrant, bossy, and loud. By the time she graduated she had trained herself to be silent and to try to go unnoticed in order to get through her time there. It had taken years of working on herself to be comfortable leading research teams and expecting to be heard and respected. She hated that all her old insecurities seemed to be coming home to roost. 

“I’m sorry, I had no idea. If I had known, I wouldn’t have…” His tone was earnest, and Hermione could see that he felt bad about it.

“Why did you?” She didn’t blame him, he had no idea about their history or how Hermione would feel about it.

“The history between Draco and myself is...sensitive. I’ve known him for more than half of my life. He and his father helped my family and I defeat Voldemort.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she remained quiet, waiting for Harry to continue.

He flicked his wand at the remaining dishes, which began to clean themselves. Harry took her hand and led them to the kitchen table.

He kept his hand wrapped around hers as they sat side-by-side.

“I don’t know where to start,” Harry admitted, examining the grain of the table closely.

It was Hermione’s turn to give him a reassuring squeeze.

“At the beginning? All I know is stuff from the Prophet and the horribly out of date history books.”

Harry grimaced and let out a hollow laugh.

“Not the most reliable sources. Well, the beginning, okay. My parents were betrayed by their secret keeper and friend Peter Pettigrew and died Halloween 1981. They sacrificed themselves to protect me. Sacrifice, especially that of a parent for a child, creates powerful magic. That protected me, and that’s how I ‘defeated’ Voldemort the first time around.”

Hermione could hear the air quotes in his voice, he sounded tired.

“What the papers didn’t say was that Voldemort didn’t actually die from that. He had been creating these things, horrible objects that would hold part of his soul, that would shield him from death.”

“Horcruxes,” Hermione whispered, horrified.

Harry’s eyes went round.

“Yes, horcruxes, how did you know?”

“I am an expert in ancient artifacts, including dark ones,” said Hermione, not able to keep the tartness out of her voice, “You-Know-Who isn’t the only one to have corrupted himself like that. I’ve only come across two other examples, and both were nearly a thousand years old.”

“Huh,” Harry looked at her, surprised and impressed, “we could have used you back then. Because we had no idea what we were dealing with for the longest time. It was finally a dinner that Dad took with an old Hogwarts professor, Horace Slughorn, that tipped us off. Old Horace was trying to butter Dad up for some favor or another and got too drunk at dinner. Apparently a young Voldemort asked him about them. That's when we started looking.”

Harry gave her a self deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s more accurate to say that’s when Dad and Remus started looking. I was only five or so at the time. They found a couple. One was actually in this house, Kreacher, the old house elf, told Sirius about it when he finally claimed the Earldom after his uncle died. There was another in the home of his mother’s family. But then we hit a wall. We didn’t find anything for years. 

“Narcissa heard that we were looking for artifacts from Kreacher. Narcissa is a Black, and the old house elf still had a soft spot for her and would visit her from time to time. So one day she showed up with Draco trailing behind her and a horcrux in her handbag.

“The next day she dragged Lucius over and, though reluctant at first, he told us everything he knew. Well, he told Dad and Remus. Draco and I were relegated to the backyard, we were 13 and wary of each other. Then we started talking Quidditch and were friends within ten minutes. I don’t know what happened in the room with the adults, but Dad and Lucius went in ready to kill each other and came out as thick as thieves.”

Harry pulled her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

“They helped us from then on out. By the time Draco and I hit 15, we were helping them find and destroy the horcruxes. Draco saved my life more than once through that process. Especially because…” Harry trailed off, and a look of cautious consideration passed over his face.

“There was a ritual, to destroy the final two pieces of him. It almost killed me. Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius saved my life.”

There was more to the story, Hermione could see it in his face. But he hadn’t pushed her about her family, so she thought it would be unfair to push him about his.

“Okay, I get it. I can’t say I’m not uncomfortable with it still, but I get it.”

“Thank you,” said Harry with a soft smile, “thank you for trusting me.”

Hermione’s response was to lean over and kiss him. The kiss started chaste, but then Harry reached to grab her, pulling her over so that she was in his lap instead of the chair next to him. He settled her on top of him so that her skirt rode up just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of her tanned thighs. 

She circled her hips experimentally and Harry bit off a curse.

“Merlin, woman, what you do to me,” he breathed out against her neck.

“We should go,” Hermione said, circling her hips again. She was in the perfect spot to grind her core against his hard thigh. “Sirius and Remus are probably suspicious.”

“Suspicious is one word for it,” said an amused voice from the stairs up to the first floor.

Hermione flushed crimson and buried her head against Harry’s shoulder to avoid meeting what she was sure was a mirthful expression on Remus’ face. 

“Be glad it was me who came to fetch you,” said the other man lightly, “if it was Sirius, he would have taken pictures.”

Hermione groaned in humiliation and Harry laughed. She listened as Remus padded back up the stairs.

“How am I ever going to face either of them ever again” asked Hermione, her cheeks still pink. 

She stood and smoothed her skirt down with a palm. She pressed her legs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure that had built at the apex of her thighs thanks to Harry’s ardent attention.

Harry leaned in and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

“They love you, don’t worry about it. Teasing is how this household shows affection.” He kissed her forehead and she leaned into the contact.

“Fine, but I’m throwing you under the bus at the first opportunity. You’re the one who dragged me into your lap.”

“That’s true, love, but you liked it.” Harry had a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

Hermione didn’t bother denying it, just gave a faux offended sniff, and took Harry’s arm so he could lead them up to the study to rejoin Remus and Sirius.

* * *

The rest of the evening went well, with only mild ribbing from Sirius and Remus. Luckily she was able to divert attention from being found in a compromising position by asking to see the photos of a young Harry. As promised, the baby photos were adorable, and the teenage photos were angsty and charming.

She had yawned a third time before Harry insisted on escorting her home. She gave polite goodbyes to Remus and Sirius who both insisted on hugs, which she gladly gave. 

She and Harry apparated to the alley outside her building for the third time in two days, and again, Harry walked her to her door. THe difference was that this time, every step closer they got to her apartment, she felt the tension ratchet up a notch. 

They came to a stop outside her door and she leaned back against it, regarding Harry carefully. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of him. 

“So,” Harry started, eyes focused on her face, “this was wonderful”

“Yes” said Hermione. 

She couldn’t take her eyes off his lips. The thought that kept running through her head was that they would be pressed against hers soon, that they could be pressed against places on her body. Places that had not seen the touch of another in a very long time

“Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with my family”

“Yes” Hermione abruptly realized that was not a correct response, “I mean, it was my pleasure, I had a great time, they’re delightful.”

Harry’s lips quirked in a small smile

Hermione leaned towards him, as if their bodies were magnets, she couldn’t resist the pull. She reached both hands behind Harry’s neck and brought his face down to hers. He offered no resistance and she bridged the gap between them, kissing him sweetly, lips meeting, sending a warm coil down her spine, settling low in her abdomen.

The sweetness turned abruptly into something intense and passionate. Harry’s arms came around her waist lifting her slightly off the ground, pressing her to him tightly. Her right hand threaded through his hair, holding him to her. The fact that he could easily lift her was something that Hermione found unbelievably hot.

The tugging in her that she had felt before, the one that she associated with the bond between the two of them, was now warm and then hot by turns. 

She gasped into the kiss. Harry took that as permission to engage her tongue with his. Hermione made a soft moan, rolling her hips against Harry’s. She could feel his length, hard and pressed against her abdomen.

Hermione pulled back slightly and Harry’s face went to her neck.

“Door” she panted, reaching one hand towards the knob and the other for her pocket with her keys. Harry let her down so her feet hit the floor gently. 

One of his hands grasped her wrist firmly, restraining her movement. Hermione let out a whimper at the contact as Harry pressed kisses down the column of her neck. Harry shuddered against her at the noise, his mouth still at her neck. He shook his head a little trying to get a hold of himself. Hermione felt more than saw Harry pull himself back, his hand still fim around her wrist.

“You shouldn’t invite me in” Harry was so close to her, forehead pressed against hers, his voice low and seductive and slightly out of breath

“I really want to,” Hermione said, internally flinching at how breathy her voice sounded.

“I want you to too, but that was...intense” Harry shut his eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

“Yeah, very.”

“And I really want to not fuck this up. I really care about you” Harry said in just above a whisper.

Hermione’s heart went to her throat and she got a floaty feeling. She took a deep breath trying to steady herself.

“Yeah, me too.”

“And I don’t want you to think that I’m just interested in you because of this physical chemistry. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the physical chemistry is amazing. But you’re so smart and you know just what to say, and-”

Hermione cut him off, “I don’t think that. But I understand what you’re saying. So, yeah, good night.”

“Good night”

Neither of them moved to pull away, their lips still a breath away from meeting again.

“It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to kiss again,” said Hermione quietly.Harry leaned away from her and ran his hand through his hair. He chuckled darkly in a way that made her core clench and shivers make their way up her spine.

“No, it probably would end with me bending you over the back of your couch.”

“Oh, I mean. Oh.” She licked her lips and Harry’s eyes followed the path of her tongue with the focus of a predator stalking its prey.

“Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence as Hermione tried to gather her thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence.

“Well then, good night, I guess. I really did have a wonderful time.”

“Me too. I want to go out again. Are you free tomorrow night?” Asked Harry.

“Yes, yes definitely,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“Okay good. Good night Hermione”

“Good night Harry”

She unlocked her door and went inside, doing her best not to turn around and invite Harry in. It was a close thing but she managed to restrain herself.

Hermione closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh.

Her hand immediately went under her skirt. She was so wet, the gusset of her knickers was soaked through, and when her fingers skirted the edges of her clitoris, she was so sensitive and hot there that she let out an involuntary moan. 

Hermione braced herself against the door, spreading her legs and pulled her panties to one side. Her breath hitched as her fingers trailed through her slick swollen folds with practiced ease. She used her fingers to circle around her clit. 

She thought about how hard and male Harry had been, about how good he tasted. 

She thought about how closely he held her.

She thought about the soft rasps of his calluses against the delicate skin of her inner wrist. 

With her other hand she pinched her nipples through the material of her shirt, rolling them with her fingers. It was a nice sort of pain, sharp and a little hot and it made Hermione’s center pulse with need.

She must have been much closer than she thought, because in under five minutes she was coming against her own fingers, legs shaking. She made no effort to muffle her half scream. When she got her faculties about her again she could see that she had slid halfway down the door and that had kicked off her heels at some point.

She wondered if Harry had heard her, if he had waited outside of her door and had heard her moan as she got herself off to the thought of him.

She hoped he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey there E rating. Nice to finally meet you. The kissing/masturbation scene was the first one I wrote for this fic actually.
> 
> Fun fact: this was the longest chapter to date.
> 
> Comments are my love language!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione speaks with Sir Avery and spends some more time with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/kudos'd/subscribed/read.
> 
> As always you can follow me/ask me questions on [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)

**August 15, 2008**

Harry’s hands flexed, coming to a tight fist and then relaxing.

His skin burned where it had touched had touched Hermione’s—his palms, his lips—he was on fire.

His breath was coming out in hard pants.

He leaned his head against her closed door to try to catch his breath, to try to get a hold of himself. There was blessed silence for a minute while he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Then from the other side of the door he heard a female moan and all his work to unwind himself flew out the window.

She was right there, on the other side of the door. So close he could almost taste her.

Harry pressed his ear against the door to hear her better, hoping none of her neighbors would walk by to see him like this, like a naughty schoolboy desperate to be near the girl he fancied. 

He was briefly grateful that the door to her apartment was shitty and thin because he could hear her gasp and groan. He knew she must be touching herself, but he was hungry for details. If there was no barrier would he be able to hear the wet sound of her fingers against her core? Were her hands on her breasts? Did she like them touched gently or did she like a rougher sensation? How wet was she? How hard did she like her clit to be touched? Was she one of those women who liked soft circles that flirted around the edges, or did she like swift firm swipes over it? Was she vocal? Would she beg him? How tight would she feel around his fingers when she came?

He restrained himself from unlocking the door with an _alohomora_. It was a close thing.

Harry palmed his cock through his trousers and closed his eyes, savoring the noises she was making. He was impossibly hard and had to readjust himself. After what felt like an eternity and like no time at all, he heard a half-scream followed by silence that he assumed signaled her completion.

He gently knocked his head against the door and bit back a groan of his own.

Merlin, this woman would be the death of him.

He took a minute to compose himself and then aparated away.

He was still hard.

* * *

**August 16, 2008**

The next morning Hermione’s first call was to the hospital. The charge nurse told her that her mother would be ready for visitors that afternoon, and Hermione mentally scheduled time to go there on her lunch break.

She briefly thought about telling Harry, asking him to go with her; she quickly disregarded the idea. This thing with Harry, though overwhelming and intense, was new. She didn’t want to put this on him; not after he had already had to deal with her the day before.

It was very strange not having to constantly worry about what her mother was doing, and she did her best to shake that feeling of responsibility. Joyce was being cared for by qualified professionals, there was nothing else she could do right now.

By the time she walked through the atrium of the Ministry, she had mostly shaken the lingering guilt, and her mind was instead on the pyramid. 

The team still had some research to do about its origins and the runes on it, but the day would soon come where she would have to bring the pyramid and the box together.

Hermione blamed this deep level of contemplation and analysis on her distraction as she weaved her way through the crowd. 

She didn’t see the hand dart out and grab her right wrist.

She jumped at the contact and turned to see Sir Avery, looking at her with something other than kindness in his eyes.

Sir Avery was not in the puce robes he had worn in the Wizengamot the other day, rather this time his robes were an eye-smarting shade of orange. With his height, it made the man look like a very narrow traffic cone.

Despite his relatively comedic appearance, he still radiated a restrained menace.

“Miss Granger, a word?” His voice was smooth, but his hand was unyielding on her wrist. He guided her out of the flow of traffic in the atrium and into a corner, out of sight of most of the people milling about.

His sudden presence took Hermione so much by surprise that she didn’t even think to object to the manhandling.

Well, at least not for a second, then she got her wits about her.

“Sir Avery, what is the meaning of this?” Her voice was crisp and professional.

“Miss Granger, I just wanted to welcome you to the Ministry,” said Avery, looming over her.

Hermione fought the urge to take a step back, she didn’t want to cede any ground, but the smell of his cologne, obviously expensive, was overwhelming and she resented having to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Thank you Sir Avery, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.” Hermione tried to pull away, but he still had her wrist firm in his grasp.

“Just a moment of your time Miss Granger. I was told that you are working on a special project with His Grace, the Duke of Llŷr. I would love to spend some time discussing the project with you.”

“Sir Avery, that won’t be possible. I’m not permitted to speak of my work. Now, if you would please release me, I must be going,” Hermione said in her best impression of Professor McGonagall’s ‘disappointed in you,’ tone.

Instead of releasing her wrist, Avery’s hand tightened to the point of pain. She felt her delicate bones grind against each other and she barely resisted a flinch.

“Miss Granger,” his voice oozed out over her, and she heard the threat behind it, “Whatever Potter told you, he was lying. He’s not loyal to Great Britain, he’s not loyal to the Ministry, he hasn’t ever lived here. Do not place your trust in that unscrupulous opportunist.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes, but just barely. “Sir Avery, like I said, I’m unable to divulge any information about my work. Furthermore, His Grace has done nothing but work in the best interest of the Ministry and of Wizarding Britain. Now I really must get going.”

“Girl, I am a member of the Wizarding nobility. I sit on the Wizengamot. I will not be denied,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. She was insulted, that this—this man thought she would divulge sensitive information simply because he asked and he was a member of the aristocracy?

“Sir Avery,” she said icily, “I told you, I can’t speak about about my work, now, if you’ll excuse—”

His grasp tightened further. She was sure she would bruise from the press of his fingertips. How much of a scene was she willing to make? If she screamed would people come? Would it make him stop?

She opened her mouth, willing to test her theory when she heard the rhythmic tap of a cane on marble.

“Miss Granger,” a cool voice over her shoulder was loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to draw attention to them.

Avery’s hand loosened with surprise and Hermione wrenched her arm out of his grasp and took two big steps back.

Straight into Lord Malfoy and Draco Malfoy.

Her back bumped into Draco Malfoy’s front and he winced as she stepped on his foot in her haste to retreat from Avery.

“Sir Avery,” Lord Malfoy drawled, his eyes flicking disdainfully over Avery’s garish outfit before settling on his face, “I hope you’re doing well this morning.”

Avery’s lips curled in something that could be called a smile, but that looked much more unpleasant.

“Lord Malfoy. I am well.”

Lord Malfoy stood, legs apart with his cane in front of him. He rubbed over the serpent's head on his cane with two hands, somehow looking menacing but also [the image of the cool aristocrat.

“Miss Granger,” Draco said, “can I accompany you to the workroom?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione said, not looking at Avery.

“Sir Avery, it might behoove you to remember that Miss Granger works under the aegis of the Ministry. The Minister of Magic hired her himself. She reports to the only remaining Duke of the Realm, the head of the Department of Mysteries, and the Head Mugwump.”

It sounded like idle chat, but Hermione could hear the warning behind it. And from the pallor that had overtake Avery’s face, so had he.

Her back was ramrod straight as she turned away from Avery, both Malfoys at her back.

* * *

They walked in silence to the lifts and Hermione did her best not to look nervous. Draco Malfoy was a known entity but his father was entirely unfamiliar to her. She had seen him in passing once in Diagon Alley many years before, but she had never had any interaction with him at all.

She knew the rumors though. Death Eater who feigned the _imperius_ curse to avoid Azkaban. He had worked for the betterment of purebloods at the expense of muggleborns for most of his early political career. And he had certainly raised Draco to have at least some level of blood prejudice too.

But after her conversation about the Malfoys with Harry last night, everything she thought she knew about them was up in the air.

How could Sirius—warm, kind, and welcoming Sirius—be friends with this man carved from a glacier?

And he had just got her away from Avery, so that had to speak to something in his character as well.

The ding that indicated an arriving lift jolted Hermione out of her contemplations. The cart was empty and Hermione stepped inside, followed by both Malfoy men.

“Miss Granger,” it was Lord Malfoy who broke the silence, “I’m happy to make you acquaintance, but am aggrieved it is under such poor circumstance.”

His face was expressionless and no matter how she squinted; she couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind his mask of pleasant indifference.

Hermione offered him a gracious nod. “Lord Malfoy, thank you for your impeccable timing. The pleasure is all mine,”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. 

“You’ve been an excellent boss to my son, and my wife sings your praises, please call me Lucius.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, unable to mask her shock, but she ducked her head in acknowledgement. “Then please call me Hermione.”

“What did Avery want?” asked Draco turning to more fully face her.

“He wanted information on the project,” she cast a wary glance at Lucius that Draco caught.

“Don’t worry about Father, he’s been briefed by Dumbledore.”

Hermione nodded. “Well, Sir Avery warned me not to trust Harry and wanted to know what I was tasked with. I told him I was unable to disclose that information, but he was still being rather insistent about it when you arrived.”

“He’s a degenerate,” bit out Lord Malfoy.

“What father means to say is that you shouldn’t be alone with him.” Draco said.

Hermione huffed in annoyance. “I was only trying to make my way across the atrium when he grabbed me. I assure you, I have no intention of spending any time with him.”

Silence reigned for a moment as the lift arrived at their floor. All three of them exited and were making their way to the workroom when Hermione realized how odd this situation was.

“Lucius,” she asked, thinking about how strange it was strange that he seemed to be accompanying his son to work, “may I ask what you are doing here today?”

“I have several meetings in the Ministry today. But more than that, I have come at the behest of my wife with a strengthening solution for you to take and with a scroll from the Malfoy ancestral collection. It is entailed, and therefore no one but the current Marquis of Caradoc can touch it. But I believe it might be helpful in your research.”

Hermione looked at the older man in surprise, but his attention was focused on the hall in front of them.

“Oh, well, thank you then,” they reached the door and Hermione unlocked it.

Lucius nodded and held the door open for her.

“What makes you think the scroll may be helpful for our research?” Hermione asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

“Well, it was written by the first High King.”

* * *

“Granger, you’re going to get drool on the ancient text,”

“Shut up Malfoy,” Hermione snapped, still pouring over the scroll that Lucius had brought.

She could not touch it, but Lucius had lain it out on a table, unrolling it so they would be able to read it in its entirety.

It was written in Old English and required a translation spell, but it was fascinating.

“Do you see this point here?” Hermione’s finger hovered over a line in the text and Draco pulled her hand away from the scroll.

“Merlin Granger, if my ancestral magic so much as singes a single hair Potter will have my head on a platter. Stop pointing. Yes, I see it.” 

“It’s talking about a box commissioned from the Goblins by the High King! Do you think that could be what we have?”

“Maybe.” Malfoy was frowning over the yellowed parchment, squinting down at the writing. “I don’t know how accurate this translation spell is, I’m going to need to check the original.”

Hermione nodded absently and continued reading.

“Hermione,” Quince said from across the room where he was still researching the runes on the pyramid, “you should eat something, it’s lunch.”

Hermione hummed in agreement, and then abruptly stopped. It was lunch; her mother could have visitors. She needed to go.

“Oh, right, I have an appointment I need to get to.”

Malfoy gave her a confused look which was mirrored by Quince.

“It’s nothing, just a family thing, I’ll be back in about an hour.”

She packed up her purse quickly and made her way out of the Ministry, torn between thinking about the scroll and worrying what awaited her at the hospital.

* * *

Harry had to see her.

Rationally, he knew that he would see Hermione that evening for their daily meeting, but he felt like he couldn’t wait that long. Which is how he found himself in the lift to her workroom, trying to come up with a plausible excuse as to why he was visiting.

He had settled on ‘just checking in’ by the time he opened the workroom door.

Only to find no Hermione inside.

His face fell, and he caught sight of Draco, who smirked at him.

“She’s not here,” said Draco with barely suppressed laughter.

Harry rolled his eyes, but stepped further in the room anyway.

“I can see that. Where is she?”

The ghost floated towards him and regarded him thoughtfully. Harry was not used to being so keenly observed by one already dead.

“She had a personal errand and said she would be back after lunch. A family matter.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry cast his eyes around the room and saw that Nagnok was also watching him with sharp eyes, “well, I was just checking in to see what progress you have made.”

“Sure you were,” drawled Draco, his eyebrow arched suggestively.

“Oh, do shut up,” bit out Harry.

A scroll laid out on the length of a worktable caught his eye. It looked ancient, and Nagnok was hunched over it, reading carefully.

“What’s that?” He asked, wandering over to the scroll.

“Don’t touch it, it only can be touched by the current Marquis of Caradoc. Even I cannot touch it without unpleasant consequences. Father brought it in this morning. It was written by the First High King.”

Harry peered at the old text.

“Have you learned anything interesting?”

“Some. It seems to mention the commissioning of the box, and it also seems to reinforce that the title of High King is not hereditary, but is merit based. The seats on the Wizard’s Council seem to be a mix of hereditary and elected. So far no mention of the True Crown or what the box was commissioned for, but we’re only about a quarter of the way through the scroll.”

Harry nodded, still looking at the ancient parchment.

“She should be back soon,” offered by Quince, still regarding Harry carefully.

Harry absently rubbed his chest and nodded.

Draco was also watching Harry carefully. Merlin, was there something on his face?

“Also, you should know that Avery approached her this morning.”

Harry’s head flicked up, and he was instantly filled with an intense rage. It was so unexpected that the shock at the feeling almost calmed him.

“What do you mean Avery approached her?” Harry asked, voice tight.

“Just what I said. She was coming into work this morning and Avery grabbed her in the atrium. My father and I came across them when we were on our way in. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation.”

“Tell me.”

Draco shot him a worried glance. “You can’t go and cut off his head. It would make Granger mad.”

“I’m not going to—fine. I won’t, I promise. What happened?” His fingers curled around the nearest worktop so tightly his knuckles went white.

“I’m not too sure. When we got there he had her by the wrist and was looming over her in that irritating way he does. She looked spitting mad. She told us he was asking about her work and telling her not to trust you.”

Harry huffed out a sigh of irritation.

“That utter—fine. I’ll deal with him later. When is she meant to be back?” He said in a low voice.

“Should be soon, She said she would be gone about an hour and that was an hour or so ago.”

“Alright. I’ll wait for her here then.”

Harry sat at one of the worktables, back straight, still infuriated that Avery had the gall to approach Hermione.

Harry breathed deeply for a few seconds until he was sure he could hold a conversation without snapping.

A moment of silence passed until Harry broke it.

“How is dear old Lucy?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You know he hates it when you and Sirius call him that.”

Harry ginned, a roguish twinkle in his eye. “I know,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“He’s fine. He said he was going to go bother Sirius to RSVP to Mum’s birthday party. Called him an awful mutt.”

The two men exchanged amused looks before lapsing into silence again.

Harry began drumming his fingers on the table in front of him.

“I told you she should be here soon,” Draco reminded, exasperated by Harry’s obvious impatience, “Merlin, you are so smitten.”

Harry didn’t bother denying it. Rather, he kept his attention on the door, hoping she would walk through it soon.

It was less than five minutes later that Hermione entered the room. She looked rather wrung out, but her face lit with a smile when she saw Harry.

It made his chest warm as she made a beeline right towards him. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms, cognizant that this was her workplace and that she might appreciate remaining professional here.

He did reach for her hand though. He wasn’t made of stone after all.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” She asked, obviously pleased at his presence. She curled her hand around his and he took a second to marvel at how small her hands felt.

“I just swung by to see how things were going.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow that was eerily reminiscent of Malfoy. Perhaps they had been spending too much time together.

“Really? Well, did Malfoy tell you his father brought in the most fascinating scroll? I think we’re going to be able to learn quite a bit from it!”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and his lips quirked in a smile. He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to check, do you have time for dinner tonight, after our meeting?”

“Of course,” she said immediately.

Her affectionate look made him temporarily forget what he was going to say next.

“Was that all?” She asked.

“Um, yes. I’ll—I’ll see you later.”

She shifted slightly so that his body obstructed her from the view of the rest of the room. She then brought his hand up to her lips and brushed a kiss against his knuckles.

“I’ll see you then.”

He pulled away reluctantly, and with one last glance over his shoulder, he left.

* * *

The lift was not empty when it stopped on Hermione’s floor.

Ginny Weasley was leaning against the back wall of the lift, looking quite fetching. Her fiery red hair was caught up in a smooth high ponytail and her robes were cute and modern.

Hermione stepped inside and faced the lift doors, not giving Ginny a second look.

“Ahem.”

The noise of someone clearing their throat echoed through the silent car. Hermione resisted the urge to turn around.

A minute later the noise happened again.

“Ahem.”

Hermione closed her eyes to beg Magic for patience.

She was not unsympathetic to the youngest Weasley. It couldn’t have been easy, having been possessed, opening the Chamber of Secrets, and having the entire school know. But Hermione had been petrified and Ginny had said nothing to her. No apology or even acknowledgement that something had happened between them. Between the many years that had passed and seeing each other every day for six years, there had been plenty of opportunity.

So instead of responding to Ginny’s passive aggressive request for attention, Hermione made the choice not to say anything. Ginny had ignored Hermione for more than a decade, so she felt no reason to acknowledge the redhead now.

“Ahem.”

That was it.

“Can I help you with something?” She kept her voice professional, but brusque.

“Hermione Granger, right? It’s Ginny Weasley! We were in Gryffindor together!” There was a faux enthusiasm in her voice that automatically put Hermione’s teeth on edge.

“Yes. I was a year ahead of you, I remember.” She did her best to keep her voice calm and unaffected.

“How are you? I heard you’re spending a lot of time with Harry Potter.” Ginny's hands were in front of her, twisting together.

Hermione pursed her lips. So this is what she wanted. She still remembered how rabid Lavender and Parvati had been for information about Harry when they had come into the Junkshop. If she was going to continue to consort with Harry, interactions like this would surely become more commonplace.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking. I don't know where you heard that, but it’s not something for me to comment on.”

A frustrated frown passed across Ginny’s face before she schooled her features into a tentative smile.

“I was wondering if you would mind if I joined you? Ron told me you met every evening.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to repress the rude remark that was her first impulse. Instead, she took a moment to look first at Ginny’s hopeful face, and then to the closed lift doors in front of her.

“I am on my way to a meeting with him about professional matters. I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

Hermione watched in the reflective surface of the lift doors as Ginny's brow creased and her mouth turned down in an unhappy moue.

“Oh, only it’s that Ron is useless for this. I’ve met Harry a couple times, but only in passing. I asked Ron to help us get together. I’ve asked him about a dozen times now. I grew up with so many stories about Harry and I’m sure if I met him we’d get along like a house on fire.” Ginny still had a hopeful glint in her eye.

Hermione bit her lip. How strange it must be for Harry to have fans to have people who thought they knew him.

“Sorry,” said Hermione, though she really wasn’t sorry, “it’s a sensitive work matter.”

She felt a wave of unexpected pity for this girl who was obviously in love with an idea and not a person.

“But,” Hermione added, not thinking, “I’ll pass along your hello.”

Ginny let out a sigh of exasperation.

“Well, okay. But really, I would love to spend some time with him. So if you could help a fellow Gryffindor out?”

Hermione hummed noncommittally and rocked slightly back on her heels.

Mercifully the doors opened, so Hermione walked out quickly, leaving Ginny to look forlornly at her back.

* * *

Harry’s door was open, so she knocked on the frame.

Harry was hunched over, one hand in his hair, the other gripped a quill with so much force she was surprised it hadn’t broken.

At her knock he looked up and greeted her with a warm smile. Their eyes met, and that pull under her breast bone twisted, leading her further into the room.

“Hermione,” he breathed out, sounding relieved and happy to see her, “have a seat.”

His office was still very much a fire hazard; papers were scattered on all surfaces, including the floor. She wondered how he ever found anything. 

She also wondered if after this was all over he might let her implement a filing system for him.

She sat on the edge of the only empty chair in the room, as he moved the report he was working on to the side.

“No real updates,” said Hermione, “the scroll Lord Malfoy brought in is very promising, but it will take a few more days to a week to get through it. We’ve exhausted most of the runic dictionaries we have, and there are still some symbols on both the cube and the pyramid we can’t identify. We’ve ordered more and I have Malfoy and Lady Longbottom raiding the ancestral libraries of the nobility. But so far there has been nothing. At some point we will need to discuss the option of just bringing the pyramid and the cube together and seeing what happens.”

Harry frowned at her and brought his hand to his face, his thumb rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.

“Do you know what will result from that?”

Hermione shrugged a little helplessly. 

“No, the hypothesis we’re operating under is that it may have a similar result to breaking the ward. But that’s pure guesswork at this point. I’m hoping that there might be more information we could find before we attempt that. But we are under a rather pressing deadline.”

Harry ran a hand through his already disheveled.

“Yes, I know. 76 more days. Fewer probably, because I can only imagine the backlash if there were no warning that the government had lost the favor of Magic and we had been hiding it for three months. If there is no solution to be found, we need to know sooner rather than later.”

“Fuck,” Hermione breathed out. Harry was right, she had less time than she thought. She pressed a palm to her forehead while the other gripped the edge of his desk.

“But that doesn’t mean that I want you cutting any corners, especially where safety is concerned.” Harry reached across placed his hand on hers. Her grip on his desk loosened, and she tried to force her shoulders to relax.

She offered him a small smile and turned her hand so she could wrap her fingers around his palm and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“I know. But there will always be risks involved.”

His mouth turned down at the edges, and he gave his head a firm shake.

Silence lingered for a moment as she tried not to think about what unpleasant consequences might await her if she was to open the cube unprepared. Breaking the ward on the cube had given her a concussion. Would opening it result in broken bones? Braking the ward had only required blood. Would opening the box require something more?

Harry ran his thumb across her palm, making her shiver and disrupting her cycling thoughts that had been rapidly becoming more and more catastrophic.

“I heard you were accosted by Avery,” he kept his voice low and it was a statement and not a question.

“I’m not sure I would call it accosting,” Hermione hedged.

“Then what would you call it?”

She bit her lip. “A confrontation? He wanted information, I declined. He seemed to believe that his social status meant that I was supposed to supplicate myself before him. I quickly disabused him of that notion.” Her voice brittle recalling the disrespect he had shown her.

“What else?” Harry prodded, keeping up the small circles on her palm and making it difficult for her to think.

“He said not to trust you,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “but the boat has sailed on that.”

A pleased grin crept across Harry face, and she saw color fill the apples of his cheeks.

“And you met Lucy,” Harry prompted

Hermione wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Lucy?”

“Lord Malfoy.”

Her eyebrows raised, and her eyes widened. “You call Lord Malfoy—former Death Eater, feared by more than half of the Wizengamot—Lucy?”

Harry gave her a half shrug. “Sirius called him that first. It sort of stuck.”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “He hates it”, he divulged, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She couldn’t help the answering grin that stole across her face

“Yes, I met him. He told off Avery. It was very satisfying to watch.”

“And Avery didn’t—he didn’t hurt you?” Harry asked, his eyes searching her face.

“No. I mean, he grabbed my wrist, which wasn’t pleasant, but that’s it.”

She held up her right wrist, the one Avery had grabbed. The sleeve on her blouse slid down enough to expose the edge of what she was sure would be a spectacular bruise. Visible was the outline of fingermarks that had turned red as blood pooled to them; by tomorrow it would be black and blue.

Harry’s had darted out to hers catching hold of the edge of her blouse, pulling it towards him. He used gentle fingers to unbutton the cuff of her blouse and rolled up the sleeve to expose the full mark. His fingertips traced the edges of the blooming bruise.

The red mark was bisected by the silver line outlined in white that the box had left, making the scar stand out.

She had the fleeting thought she should have healed her wrist. But she had been working and distracted all day, and hadn’t noticed how it ached until now.

Harry’s face went dark. His lips tightened and his jaw clenched.

“He did this to you?”

Her initial urge was to minimize it, play it down. But she immediately reconsidered. Why would she do that? She had no desire to protect Avery, and she didn’t want to lie to Harry.

“Yes, I didn’t realize it was so bad until just now. I can heal it.”

His eyes were still on the mark. If he were looking at her the way he was looking at her wrist, she would have run in the opposite direction. His bright green eyes glinted with intensity, and his entire body was stiff.

“Let me.” His voice was rough.

Harry’s hand cradled her wrist, and he gently ran the tip of his wand over the mark. The gathered blood dissipated from under her skin, and the ache subsided.

She flexed her wrist to make sure that all the pain had faded and that she had her same range of motion.

“Did he touch you anywhere else?” Harry still wasn’t looking at her face, his head tilted down and focused on the motion of his thumb, rubbing back and forth across the mark left by the box.

“No, that was it. I’m fine, I promise.” She tried to reassure him, but she thought it was falling on deaf ears.

“You’re going to floo in through the fireplace in the DMLE from now on.” His tone brokered no argument.

But she still had to argue at least a little.

“That’s not practical, I can’t do that. I don’t have a fireplace in my apartment.” Hermione pointed out.

Harry sighed, frustrated. “Well then, let me set up a separate apparition point in the Ministry then.”

Hermione didn’t reject the suggestion out of hand. But turned it over in her head.

“Why?” She asked. She desperately needed the rationale that was not linked to his belief that she couldn’t protect herself, or that she merited favoritism simply because of their connection.

“The security of your project is essential. Your role in the project is not replaceable. Avery is a foul man who associates with other foul men. And you are in their sights now.”

His look turned chagrined. “Also, I don’t like that he was able to get to you.”

She considered his reasoning. It was true, she was personally intertwined with the project, and though her exact role was unclear, it was obviously essential. And she trusted that Harry was right about Avery. Their interaction that morning certainly hadn’t warmed her to him.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Harry echoed back, eyebrows raised like he was surprised at her easy acquiescence.

“Yes. Okay. Your reasoning makes sense.” 

Harry’s thumb was continuing to trace the line of the scar on her wrist.

They sat in silence for a minute, but it felt comfortable. Hermione felt lulled into calm by the movement of Harry’s thumb and by his closeness. There was a warm content feeling that had welled up deep in her chest.

That was why she was taken by surprise when he asked his next question.

“Where were you at lunch?” His voice was soft.

“Visiting my mother.” Hermione said, as her eyes drifted shut.

“How is she?”

Hermione sighed but kept her eyes closed. “Fine, they’re keeping her on a psych hold for at least 72 hours, and then her physical injuries will probably add at least another week to her hospital stay. They’re talking about only releasing her to a rehab.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Hermione pressed her lips together and considered it. “To be honest? I feel relieved. I’m sure it makes me a terrible daughter—”

Harry interrupted “You’re not a terrible daughter. You’ve done so much. Given up so much.”

Hermione waived him away with her free hand, and he tightened his grip slightly around her right wrist.

“It certainly doesn't feel like that, especially right now.”

He lifted her hand up and pressed a kiss on the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist.

The contact gave her a jolt, but something warm accompanied it, uncurling under her breast bone.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

He returned a warm look and made to stand. “Okay. Well, if that’s it, let’s go to dinner then.”

She stood. He didn’t let go of her hand as they made their way out of the Ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came out later than usual because of real life stuff (finals and planning a cross country move), so I appreciate the understanding! A similar delay is expected with the next chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos are my love language.
> 
> Seriously though, I adore hearing from you all. It is a delight.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione have dinner, and the Minister stops by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My most sincere thank you to everyone who has reviewed/kudos'd/subscribed/bookmarked/read. Really, I love hearing from you all, it's truly a delight.
> 
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**August 16, 2008**

The heat from Harry’s hand on Hermione’s lower back bled through her clothes. She could feel the outline of each of his long fingers and his wide palm, even through the material of her sensible pencil skirt. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She did her best to maintain a pleasant but neutral expression on her face as they made their way through the halls of the Ministry. She hoped that she was doing a passable job presenting a professional front despite the electricity running up and down her spine.

As they passed through the atrium, Harry stuck close behind her, guiding her. Unlike most of her walks through the busy hub, the crowd seemed to part before them.

They reached the apparition point, and she tilted her head to look up and back at him. She admired the strong line of his jaw and how unruly his hair always seemed to be.

He wasn’t watching her though. His head was on a swivel, observing the crowd. While one hand remained glued to her lower back, the other rested over here she was sure his wand was stored. His eyes were sharp, and she had the sense that he was completely aware of their surroundings. It was behavior she had seen in war veterans. What sort of life had he lived before coming to the Ministry?

He smoothed his hand from her lower back around to hold her hip securely and apparated them both to the outskirts of Diagon Alley.

Harry leaned down so that his face was level with her ear.

“I was thinking perhaps a wizarding restaurant? Draco has been going on and on about Vin Rouge. It’s off of Diagon Alley, out of the way.”

Hermione nodded without looking at him. His hand that was wrapped around her hip was making her stomach turn over. His fingers drummed out a beat against her hipbone and she pressed her lips together to stop from begging for more contact.

She turned to look at him, and he gave her a roguish wink and let her go. For a moment she felt an icy chill sweep over where he had touched her. But when his hand resumed its guiding place on her lower back her shoulders sagged slightly with relief; the chill being replaced by warmth, making her feel sheltered and safe. How strange it was to have her physical comfort so depend on the proximity of another person. She was at least reassured that she wasn't the only one with a powerful reaction, given the speed with which he resumed touching her.

He guided her down a quiet side street. There were a few people whose eyes tracked their movements, but the emptiness of the street meant passersby didn’t accost them.

Though she still didn’t have a subscription herself, she had started to pay more attention to the headlines from the Prophet and Witch Weekly. Partly because she was nervous that her face might soon grace the cover of those publications, but also out of curiosity. It appeared public interest in Harry and his personal life had not died down any since he had come back to the UK. She wouldn’t be surprised if there was a photographer who snapped a picture of them sometime this evening, especially since they were in the Wizarding world.

He guided her into a nondescript building that Hermione would not have recognized as a restaurant. He held open the door to her and as she walked in she was greeted by an entryway bedecked in rich velvet and gold trimmings.

“Lupin for two,” Harry said, voice deep and commanding.

Without a word the maître d’ bowed low and ushered them to a private room towards the back of the restaurant. Hermione regarded their surroundings curiously. It looked like the restaurant was nothing but private rooms. There didn’t seem to be any public seating, instead each party had their own room. This seemed like a restaurant she could never afford.

She had a flash of anxiety. How would she be able to afford even half of this meal? Biting her lip, she tried to do the mental math about her remaining food budget for the month. As long as this was less than her rent, she would probably be fine. Her raise had allowed her to build up a cushion. So as long as this wasn’t a literal fortune, she could afford half without having to wash dishes in back to cover her tab.

Harry held out her seat, and she sat, face relaxing. It once again occurred to her how different their upbringings had been. Old-fashioned manners were just that to her, old-fashioned. But his courteousness was delightful and refreshing.

As Hermione perused the menu she noted with a little anxiety that no prices were listed. She swallowed down her nervousness and instead pasted on a pleasant smile.

“Would you mind if I ordered for us? Draco had very particular recommendations.” Harry offered her a playful roll of his eyes and Hermione felt something warm and indulgent bubble up in her chest.

“Sure,” Hermione said, closing her menu and placing it on the table, “I’m sure Draco was very specific.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You could say that,” he said, putting down his menu was well.

The waiter came in and Harry ordered in perfect French.

Hermione’s toes curled in her sensible flats.

“You speak French?” Hermione was embarrassed how breathless her voice sounded.

Harry grinned at her, a spark of mischief in his gaze. “Yes, Dad, as much as he hated his formal education, still made sure I had one as well. I can speak French, Italian, and Spanish, dance, and even fence.”

“Dance? Like waltzing or modern?”

Harry chuckled and leaned towards her. “Waltzing. Though I also had a few tap classes at Remus’ insistence.”

“I never learned how to dance. We had mandatory lessons before the Yule ball, but I didn’t learn much because I didn’t go. I mostly read other books during those lessons” Hermione admitted with a wry grin.

“It’s not hard, you just need to have the right teacher.” Harry reached across the table and grabbed her hand. The contact of his skin on hers was warm.

“Oh?” Hermione teased, “and you’re the right teacher?” She arched an eyebrow.

Harry turned her hand over and used his middle and pointer fingers to walk across her palm. It sent shivers up her spine. The drag of his calluses over the sensitive skin of her palm aroused her, and she resisted the urge to curl her hand around his.

“I’m sure I could show you all sorts of things,” Harry said, tone deceptively light.

Hermione’s tongue ran across her bottom lip and Harry’s eyes followed the movement, something ravenous in his gaze. She relished the power that she obviously had over him.

The waiter broke the moment, coming by with a bottle of wine that looked expensive. The waiter offered a small pour to Harry who swirled the red wine around the glass. He looked like a sommelier as he admired the bouquet, before taking a small sip, and nodding at the waiter to pour.

Hermione brought the glass up to her lips, taking a small sip. She closed her eyes with a moan of appreciation at the taste of the wine on her tongue. It was rich and fruity without being sweet. It was decadent.

Harry’s fingers that had been drawing shapes on her palm wrapped around her wrist and tightened just enough to get her attention.

Her eyes popped open, and she bit her lip. Harry’s pupils were too wide for the level of light and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Those noises will get you in trouble,” he said, voice a low rumble.

“Promises, promises,” she responded, sounding sultry.

They maintained eye contact for a minute, but Hermione was the first to look away, cheeks pink. She felt a flutter of surprise in the pit of her stomach at her gall. She had regained some of her brashness she had back in Paris, but this flirtiness that Harry sparked in her was something new. She had dated before, both men and women, but she had never been so bold. She liked it, even though it also made her nervous.

“So,” Hermione looked down, smoothing her napkin over her lap and gathering her nerves, “what have you been up to?”

Harry loosened his grip and stroked his thumb over her pulse point on her wrist, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He gave a glance around their private room before grabbing his wand and casting a privacy charm.

“It’s been a long week. Even though it’s a Saturday, I was in all day. There is more going wrong with the Auror department than I thought. Fudge was back in my office today to talk to me about the Auror I’m trying to fire. There has also been an uptick in attacks against Aurors. Just this afternoon a team went to execute a search warrant, and someone attacked them. They knocked out both Aurors, and the suspects got away.”

Harry huffed in frustration and used his free hand to push his hair back.

“That was the third time this month that a team has been accosted and injured.”

“Do you think it’s an organized effort?” Hermione asked, a frown creasing her brow.

A somber look passed across his face.

“I don’t know. It seems like too much of a coincidence though.”

The waiter interrupted them again, this time delivering the food. With a flick of his wand Harry lowered the privacy charm.

They ate the sumptuous meal as Harry regaled her with stories of Sirius’ exploits and Harry’s hijinks growing up. Her favorite story was when a very young Harry (with some help from Remus) turned Sirius’ hair neon green for an entire month.

Hermione in turn shared the more lighthearted experiences she had at Hogwarts, like the time she had helped the Weasley Twins turn Umbridge’s office into a swamp during her tenure as DADA professor. Harry’s carefree hearty laugh made her laugh in return.

At the end of the meal Hermione reached for her purse, but Harry placed his hand on her forearm, stilling her motion.

“This is my treat, I’m the one who asked you out.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I don’t want—I mean, I know that…” she trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

Harry watched her, tilting his head but remaining silent.

“I don’t want you to think I’m just using you for money, for influence, for anything.” She finally said determinedly.

A slow grin spread across his face. “I know you’re not using me,” he reached and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “But this is on me. They have my account information on file. I’m the one who suggested the restaurant. Look, I know that you’re not with me for money or whatever else. I feel the same—” Harry broke off, seemingly trying to find the right words, “the same heat you do. Every time you touch me I feel like I’m catching fire.”

Hermione took a shuddery inhale. “Yeah, I feel that too.”

He brushed his thumb over her plump lower lip. Feeling a burst of confidence, she flicked out her tongue to run it across the pad of his thumb. Harry shut his eyes and held his breath. She narrowed her eyes, smiling. She used the moment to draw his thumb further into her mouth, sucking on it lasciviously.

“Fuck,” Harry bit out with a sharp exhale, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

Her cheeks were bright red despite her moment of courage. She released his thumb with an obscene sounding pop and Harry groaned softly.

“I hope not,” she said, “this is only our first proper date.”

“Not the first. We had breakfast. And then I invited you over to meet my family. This is at least the third.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. “So meeting your parents was a date? Rather unconventional for a second date.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry stood and offered her his arm to help her stand. “Yes, I count it as a date. I’m trying to amass as many dates with you as possible.”

Hermione stood, placing her hand on Harry’s forearm to help lever herself up.

“Why are you trying to amass as many dates as possible?”

Harry smiled down at her, softness in his eyes.

“Because I want to convince you to keep me.”

* * *

Harry apparated her to the alleyway by her building. They walked in comfortable silence as they made their way up to her flat.

Once again they found themselves in front of her door. But this time, Hermione was determined that she wanted this evening to go differently than the previous one did.

So when they came to a stop in front of her door, instead of coming to a halt, she took out her key, opened the door and grabbed Harry’s hand, pulling him inside with a smooth motion.

“I didn’t want there to be any confusion,” said Hermione, going up on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I wanted you to come in this time.”

Harry laughed and pulled her in, his arms going around her waist, “Well there is no confusion, I promise.”

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders automatically. As he leaned down to place kisses, first on her forehead, then on both cheeks, and then he caught her mouth with his in a searing kiss.

The drugging effect of his kisses was immediate, her body softened, her curves molding against his hard planes. She felt heat at all the places they touched, her chest to chest, his fingertips pressing indents into the skin of her waist.

She rolled her hips against him, and she felt his hard cock pressed against her. Harry let out a low groan and Hermione repeated the action, smiling into their kiss.

Harry walked her back, pushing her up against her closed front door. Trapped there in the cage of his arms made her core clench.

His thigh pushed her legs open and she let him, widening her stance. He raised his knee so that her center pressed against his thigh. She worried briefly, that her slick would leave a mark on his slacks. She was wearing a skirt which meant that the only fabric between them was the already-soaked gusset of her knickers and the fabric of his trousers. 

Hermione whined high in her throat as she rubbed herself against his thigh, like an animal in heat. One of Harry’s hands went to the back of her head and wove through her hair, pulling just enough so the pull was sweet but stung.

“You’re such a needy slut, aren’t you?” He panted against her lips.

“Fuck, Harry.”

Harry laughed and lowered his leg, leaving her aching, wishing the friction would return.

He pressed her harder against the inside of the door, hips pressing more firmly against hers. “I heard you last night, were you rubbing that sweet little cunt of yours?”

Hermione gasped into his mouth. “Where did you get such a filthy mouth? I thought you were a gentleman?”

Harry’s grin was tilted and rakish. “I was raised by somewhat of a scoundrel. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Sirius isn’t much of a gentleman either. You should hear him when his team is losing at quidditch.”

His hand dragged up the side of her thigh, under her skirt, only stopping when he reached the fabric of her knickers. He brushed his knuckles against her seam through the fabric, and her knees almost buckled.

“Plus, you like it. You’re wet.”

Hermione half moaned half laughed in response.

“I’m going to get you off like this, and then I’m going to tell you goodnight.”

Her hand darted between them, and she palmed his cock through his slacks. “Are you sure about that?”

“Fuck, you minx,” he ground out between gritted teeth. Harry’s hand went to her wrist to stop the movement of her hand. “If you don’t stop that, you’ll make me come in my pants like a teenager.”

Harry’s hand curled around the fabric of her knickers and yanked hard enough so she the elastic band pit into her skin before tearing. He had ripped her underwear, giving room for him to press his palm against her cunt.

Two fingers pressed inside of her, they were long and thick and she felt the sweet burn of the stretch from them. They sunk into her, deeper than her own fingers reached. He crooked them just so and her hand shot out to his shoulder to steady herself, a surprised moan escaping her lips. He had found the spot she didn’t think existed. She had tried and failed to find her g-spot, and so had previous lovers; she had concluded that it was a myth. But less than 30 seconds Harry’s magic fingers had found it, making her knees go weak and pleasure pulse through her veins.

As his fingers moved rhythmically in and out of her, he used the thumb of the same hand to circle her clit, gentle at first, but then with more and more pressure. His hand that was still in her hair gave a sharp yank and she mewled in pleasure.

She unwound a hand from around his neck and unbuttoned her shirt enough to allow him to see the tops of her tan breasts. He bent his head enough to pepper kisses on the tops of her breasts, his fingers still pumping in and out of her, hitting that sweet spot while his thumb made lazy circles around her clit. The scratch of his beard on her chest and neck made her feel sensitive and hot all over.

“Harry,” Hermione keened, canting her hips desperate for a firmer touch, for more pressure, for something.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me Hermione? Are you going to come all over my fingers? I can hear how wet your tight cunt is. You’re soaking.”

He breathed out his filthy words against her skin, raising goosebumps along her neck and down her back.

She nodded frantically. She wanted to be a good girl for him. The phrase, the way he said it, it dripped like honey down her spine, sweet and warm and it set her on fire. She clenched around his fingers; he chuckled darkly.

She let out a choked gasp, and Harry increased the pressure of his thumb. One of her hands was curled around his shoulder, her nails digging into the fabric of his robes. She tangled the other in his messy hair, clutching him close to her.

It couldn’t have been a comfortable angle for him. Though she was average height for a woman, Harry’s height made her feel small, something she had never felt before. He had hunched down to press his mouth into the hot skin of her neck. She went up on her toes to give him better access and he pushed her more firmly into the door, making it rattle in its frame.

“Stay still” Harry rasped out, nipping at her pulse point.

She hadn’t really been trying to move, but now that he had told her not to, she was suddenly torn. One part of her wanted to do exactly what he said, wanted to be a good girl for him. The other half wanted to push him and tease him and make him take control.

“Bed,” she gasped out, “take me to bed.”

“No,” he bit out, letting go of her hair and pushing the cups of her bra down with his hand, freeing her breasts. His fingers brushed over her nipples, gentle at first and then pinched almost to the point of pain. She let out an animalistic whine and arched into the contact, towards the bite of his fingers into her skin.

“I told you, you’re going to come like this, against the door, all over my fingers, and then I’m going to tuck you in bed. I’m not going to fuck you tonight. I’m going to suck your slick off of my fingers and then when I get back to my flat I’m going to wank off thinking of how you tasted, thinking of the pretty sounds you made, your hot, slick tight cunt wrapped around my fingers, and I’m going to think of how you looked at me, desperate and glassy eyed, begging for my cock.”

His fingers sped up and Hermione shuddered against him, vision narrowing to center on his face. Her core pulsed and fluttered around his fingers and she let out a broken groan, coming more powerfully than she remembered having ever done before. The warmth in her chest that constantly simmered whenever she was around Harry blossomed into an inferno, burning though her nerves with pleasure. The muscles of her legs trembled, and she was sure she’d be on the ground if Harry wasn’t holding her up.

“Good girl,” said Harry, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. She clenched around his fingers again with the aftershocks.

He withdrew his fingers; she felt so empty that she bit her lip to stop from begging him to fill her again.

True to his word, Harry brought his fingers that were wet with her slick to his mouth. He licked his thick fingers, savoring the taste of her. He then pressed his fingertips against her kiss stained mouth. She opened her mouth, taking his fingers in and tasting her own tangy essence. It wasn’t unpleasant. She leaned down further, taking the length of his fingers into her mouth, running her tongue over the pads of his fingers. She met his gaze and electricity brushed through her, the intensity of his attention was a physical weight.

Harry’s breath caught as he watched her with bright eyes.

“You’re making it hard for me to say goodnight to you.”

Hermione pulled off of his fingers, a trail of saliva connecting his fingers and her mouth for a second. She blushed a deep red and licked her lips, breaking the connection. She went up on her toes and kissed the triangle of flesh where the buttons of his shirt were undone.

“Good.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted. Hermione squeaked in surprise as he swept her up in a bridal hold.

A surprised laugh escaped her lips. She hadn’t been picked up since she was a child. She wasn’t the waif she had once been. She was sturdy with lush curves, but he lifted her up like she was nothing.

Carrying her back to her room, they both laughed when he dropped her unceremoniously on the center of her bed.

“Are you going to tuck me in? You promised.”

Hermione’s fingers went to the bottom of her blouse and pulled it up and over her head. Her bra was still pushed under her breasts, so when she stripped off her top, her breasts were bared to him.

Harry didn’t answer, his eyes were on her chest and he licked his lips unconsciously.

Reaching around, she undid her bra, letting it fall to the bed, on top of her discarded shirt.

She cupped her breasts, running gentle fingers over her nipples, which were deliciously sore from Harry’s attentions.

Getting on her hands and knees, she made her way from the center of the bed to the edge, so she was close enough to touch Harry.

With one hand she reached out, trailing her fingers across his very obvious—and impressive—bulge.

“Let me help relieve some of this pressure,” she said, eyes flicking between his cock and his face.

One of Harry’s hands went to her head, lacing his fingers in her hair, resuming his firm grip, bringing back the sweet pull on her hair. His other hand flicked open the placket of his trousers, pushing down his pants to bring out his thick, throbbing length.

Hermione licked her lips, and her mouth watered. He had a pretty cock, fat, so thick she was sure that the stretch would hurt just a little when he pushed into her for the first time. He was longer than average, but not enough so it would be uncontrollable take him all. She rubbed her thighs together, seeking friction despite her recent orgasm.

Using her hair, Harry drew her head so close that she nosed along the length of his cock. She licked kittenishly at his length. His skin tasted like salt and sweat and something undeniably male.

Harry groaned and pulled her closer, her hair tight in his fist. She took pity on him and took his length into her mouth. She bobbed up and down, allowing his hand on her head to guide her movements, swiping her tongue back and forth.

“Fuck—you mouth, love,” Harry brought up his free hand to brush along her lips where they were pulled taut against his cock. “You look so pretty like this, with my cock down your throat. I know I said I was just going to tuck you into bed, but fuck, how could I resist you when you look like this?”

Hermione smiled around him and increased her efforts. One of her hands went to caress his length that she couldn’t fit in her mouth and then to his sack. Her other hand drifted up to her breasts, at first caressing, and then pinching like Harry had earlier.

“Look at me, Hermione,” Harry growled.

She looked up at him and he thrust deeper into her mouth, making her choke on his length, before withdrawing and then pressing forward again. She moved her hands from her chest, tucking it between her thighs. She rode her own hand this time, grinding against her fingers just like she liked. She felt her peak coming, and she moaned, the vibration making Harry moan in return. After a few pumps he spilled himself in her mouth. She swallowed, pulling away and licking her lips.

His eyes were wide with awe, and he loosened his hand in her hair, petting her head. She kept her eyes on him as she circled her clit a few more times before whining her own release, hips jerking.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, zipping up his pants.

Hermione stayed where she was on the bed, a little out of it from her orgasm.

Harry turned, her pyjamas were hanging on a chair near her bed, he gathered them in his arms, and then turned back towards her. He took the sleep shirt and lifted her arms up above her head, pulling the shirt down over her head, dressing her like a doll.

Hermione let him, still exhausted from her two orgasms in such quick succession, a bemused smile creeping over her face. He then lifted her, grabbing her hips, manhandling her so he could strip off her skirt and her ripped panties. He hesitated, eyes on her slit, which was still wet from their activities.

“Knickers?” Harry asked, cheeks heating to a delightful pink.

Hermione pointed to the top drawer of her dresser. “You’re blushing? Because you asked where my knickers were? After you told me how wet my cunt was?”

Harry grabbed a pair that was cute but functional, and laughed, rubbing his free hand on the back of his neck.

“I don’t know,” he said, pushing her onto her back so that her legs were in the air. He pulled on her knickers, petting her slit once as he got them up her legs.

Hermione smiled at him, cooperating as he dressed her, lifting her hips so he could put on her knickers and her sleep pants.

“It’s cute,” Hermione smiled, leaning back against her pillows and folding her hands over her stomach.

Harry gave her a chagrined smile and walked to the top of the bed. He pulled at the blankets, folding down a corner and herding her so she was under the covers.

“Where is your wand?” he asked, smoothing the duvet over her.

“In the pocket in my skirt.”

Harry, grabbing his own wand, made her discarded clothes fold themselves and then summoned her wand. He placed it on the bedside table.

“Teeth cleaning charm?” he asked, kissing her forehead, like he couldn’t resist the lure of her skin.

“Mint please,” Hermione said snuggling deeper under the covers. After a murmured word from Harry her mouth felt fresh and tasted of mint.

He tucked the covers around her and leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss across her mouth. Her hand shot out from under her covers to wrap around his neck, holding him against her mouth, deepening the kiss. It turned filthy and hot quickly. After a minute he pulled back, out of breath.

“None of that now,” Harry’s voice was firm, but his rosy cheeks and the smile tucked into the corners of his mouth belied his seriousness. He gentled his palm over her cheek, looking at her with such tenderness that her heart clenched.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him in closer. “Stay while I fall asleep?” Hermione asked, voice soft.

Harry nodded and smiled at her, sitting on the edge of the bed. He began petting her hair, and she drifted off, soothed by the contact and the warmth of his bulk.

* * *

**August 31, 2008**

The next fifteen days passed in a blur. Hermione and her team spent each day examining all the rune dictionaries they could get their hands on, pouring over the scroll that Lucius had brought in, and performing very cautious tests on the box. At the end of every day she would meet with Harry, and more often than not they would have dinner. They alternated between wizarding and muggle restaurants. Though Hermione tried to pay, Harry never let her.

If they didn’t have dinner, Harry would take her out to lunch or invite her to breakfast. They spent a good portion of their free time together. While their physical relationship hadn’t progressed past that first night, she still came on his talented fingers multiple times a week. Though much to her disappointment, she never managed to get his cock back in her mouth again, his control now too tightly held.

Her mother remained in the hospital, and she visited several times a week, normally during lunch breaks or early in the morning before work. During every one of her visits her mother was asleep or non responsive. They had yet to transfer her to a rehabilitation facility, continuing to run tests and keep her under observation. It continued to be a relief to her, and she continued to have a twinge of guilt every time she walked out of the hospital doors feeling lighter.

But what was really troubling was the box. Each day felt like she took a step closer to having to just bring the pyramid and the box together. They didn’t seem to learn anything new, and it was driving her mad. She could tell that it was frustrating everyone else on the team as well.

They needed to know what would happen with the pyramid, because if the answer was nothing, then they needed to move on to a new avenue of research, and they needed to have time to conduct that new research.

It was finally at the end of the month that things came to a head.

Hermione had been reviewing her notes on Aztec runic variations when a sharp, demanding knock sounded on the workroom door. She jumped, her head shooting up to look at the door. They rarely had visitors. Sometimes Harry would stop by, but he had stopped knocking long ago.

Standing, she waved her wand to straighten her notes and conceal anything confidential before making her way to the door, opening it slowly, one hand on her wand. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the Ministry, but she didn’t know what wards protected the location of the workroom. The last thing she wanted to do was let Sir Avery in accidentally.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood a step back from the door, his sizeable frame taking up most of the doorway.

“Minister!” Hermione took a hasty step back, almost tripping over her feet.

At her exclamation, all the other occupants looked up from their tasks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy smooth his hair into its usual perfect coif.

“Miss Granger,” Minister Shacklebolt’s voice was deep and slightly accented. He was resplendent in royal purple robes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

“Not at all Minister.” She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze steadily. “How can we help you?”

Minister Shacklebolt’s mouth was a flat line, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

“His Grace, Director Potter, has been keeping me updated on your progress, or lack thereof.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and exhaled sharply through her nose, resisting the urge to lecture the Minister of Magic about the research process and how the scientific method applied to magical artifact research.

“Yes Minister, while we have made good progress, we’ve not yet opened the box.”

“I need not remind you of the urgency of the situation. There are only two months left, we are a third of the way through the allotted time.” His tone was tense and clipped and his accent was more obvious.

Hermione did frown at him this time. “Minister, with all due respect, if you’re here to try to urge us to work more quickly, I assure you, your trip was superfluous. We’re working as fast as we can. Given what happened when the Unspeakables tried to open the box the first time, it’s prudent that we take precautions so as not to accidentally blow up the Ministry or ourselves.” Her voice ended sharp and slightly more shrill than she wished.

Sighing heavily, the Minister gave her a grim smile. “My apologies Miss Granger, I am aware of all you and your team have accomplished. However, there are...factions that are not happy with the secrecy surrounding the delay in voting, and your project generally. There is pressure being exerted on myself and on the Ministry to disclose why the voting procedure failed and to allow others access to you and your team.”

“I understand Minister,” she said, feeling a coolness on her right that she associated with the approach of Quince. “We’re working as quickly as we can. We know the urgency and appreciate the ability to operate without the scrutiny of the entire Wizarding world for the time being.”

“Minister, if I may suggest something?” Malfoy’s voice sounded from her left. She looked over, both he and Nagnok had approached. Malfoy had a smile on his face that Hermione recognized from when he used to butter up professors at Hogwarts. “My mother, along with some of her allies like Lord Black, the Earl of Cador, Lord Nott, the Baron of Erec, and Lord Longbottom the Earl of Kay, may be willing to help the Ministry keep these...factions in line.”

“Lord Malfoy, yes, that would be helpful.” Minister Shacklebolt’s eyes narrowed, and his expression wary.

“Additionally, Minister, I am sure that the Goblins have a vested interest in keeping this research quiet for now. King Ragnok is impressed with the work that Miss Granger has done so far. Perhaps our King might be persuaded to exert some pressure to keep your dissidents in line,” Nagnok said.

Minister Shacklebolt’s eyebrows shot up. For a politician, he had a terrible poker face, thought Hermione, mentally taking note. Either that, or the Goblins offering their help really was that shocking.

“My deepest thanks to the Goblin Realm and King Ragnok. I will take it up with the Goblin representative.” Minister Shacklebolt said, offering Nagnok a deep nod.

Minister Shacklebolt’s attention turned back to Hermione. “I again apologize for the intrusion, I wanted to ensure that you were aware of the urgency of the situation, but I can see that you are. Thank you for your time.”

Hermione murmured her thanks to the Minister for stopping by and ushered him out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him her heartbeat sped up. Had she just told off the Minister of Magic? Had she really just done that? He breath came in shallow gasps. Her courage had followed the Minster out the door and she eased herself into a seat at one of the worktables, putting her head between her knees, hoping not to pass out.

“Good job Granger,” said Draco, clapping her on the back.

She whimpered in response.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, standing up to the Minister like that. I never saw you say so much as boo to any authority figure ever. Who knew that your backbone had grown so stiff?”

Her head shook back and forth and a strained and manic laugh emerged from her lips. Her heartbeat slowed, and she sat up cautiously.

“Merlin, why did I do that?” She asked to no one in particular, her voice hoarse.

“You were quite right to do so,” Quince drifted over towards her again. “It was clear he came here in frustration and that his comments were out of line.”

Hermione nodded, standing gingerly. At least this moment of panic had lasted a shorter time than her one in the elevator in front of Harry had.

“Well, since we just assured the Minister we’re working as hard as we can, we should get back to work,” she dusted her hands on her sensible skirt and returned to her runic analysis, the other members of her team returning to their tasks as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have moved across the country and have semi-settled in. I should get back to a more regular posting schedule, but again I make no promises given how crazy things are.
> 
> I hope that you and yours are safe.
> 
> Comments and kudos are my love language!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Ladyshjwblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyshjwblack) for betaing, it is very much appreciated.
> 
> You can follow me/ask me questions on [my tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)

**September 7, 2008**

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefingers and thumb, shutting her eyes and suppressing an exasperated sigh.

The chair at the worktable was hard and uncomfortable and she could tell she had been sitting for too long, but she simply didn’t have the energy to get up.

It was  near midnight, not that she could tell, given that the windows of the workroom were charmed to show daylight, even when it was well past dusk. It was seven days, six hours, and about sixteen minutes since Minister Shacklebolt had come in, demanding more progress, more speed.

The team was feeling the pressure.

“So we have nothing.” Malfoy’s expression was pinched as he paced back and forth across the work room.

“Well,” said Hermione slowly, desperately grasping for at least some silver lining, “we’ve finished translating the scroll your father brought in? And we’ve gone through all the runic dictionaries in print.”

Draco snorted and sat heavily in one of the chairs at a worktable.

Quince frowned down at him. The ghost was hovering over the scroll, reading it through for probably the fifteenth time.

Even Nagnok was on edge, his flipping through texts about artifacts had become increasingly aggressive as hours passed without a new lead.

“Well whinging about it certainly won’t help.” Quince said tartly, peering at Malfoy over his glasses.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and his mouth turned to what would be a petulant pout on anyone else. But Hermione would never have told Malfoy that.

Nagnok shut the book he was looking at with a sharp snap and cleared his throat. “I believe this is what you refer to as a dead end.”

“Are you certain that there is no more information that the Goblins can provide us with?” Hermione tried to keep the pleading out of her voice but wasn’t entirely successful.

“I spoke with Miss Delacour yesterday and she reported that the librarians in the Great Library had made no further progress.”

Hermione pressed her lips together.

“Alright ,” the word was more like an extended exhale. “Then we’re going in blind.”

“Not entirely blind,” Quince floated over to settle in front of her. “We now know that the box is Goblin in origin, and we know that the pyramid somehow seems to be connected to it. We now know from the scroll that the role of High King isn’t hereditary, and that the position controlled the Wizards’ Council and the Wizengamot. We now know that the High King wears the True Crown. That is more than we knew at the start of this.”

Malfoy snorted. “That doesn’t tell us if any of this has to do with why new laws aren’t being registered with the Ledger. Or if this box actually has anything to do with that, or if getting it open will have an impact on the problem we are trying to solve.”

Hermione rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Yes. Okay. Well you both are right. But we need to just get the box open and see. Because if we need to explore new avenues of investigation we now only have a month and a half.”

She worried her lip. The pyramid was on the worktable in front of her and she reached out to grab it. The weight of it in her hand calmed her frayed nerves and she ran her index finger over its faces, feeling the carvings etched into it.

“Well,” she finally said after a minute of silence, “then we’re just going to have to bring the pyramid and the box together and see what happens.”

“ _ See what happens _ ? Merlin, you want me to tell Harry that we’re going to ‘see what happens’ when we have his—” Malfoy cut himself off, his eyes darting to Hermione.

“I am perfectly capable of doing my job. You answer to me, not to Harry,” Hermione bit out.

“What do you mean Draco doesn’t answer to me?” Harry walked through the workroom door and glanced around at its occupants. His tone was joking, but his expression was serious. “I guess I have to apologize for years of telling him what to do then.”

Hermione smiled wanly at Harry. “I sent word that it would be a long night and that I’d give you an update in the morning.”

“I know, but it was a long night for me too. I’m about to leave and I want all of you out. You all have had too many long nights this week.” Harry walked far enough in the room to stand behind Hermione. She felt the warmth radiating from his body and did her best not to lean back into him. It had been such a long day, a long week, and she was exhausted.

Harry placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Harry, you’ve got to tell your witch that her plan is  lunacy .” Malfoy turned to Harry, lips pursed in disapproval.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this Draco, but she’s brilliant and knows what she’s doing, seeing as she’s your actual boss.” Harry’s tone was dry and calm, but his hand tightened on her shoulder.

Malfoy flapped his hand dismissively and gathered up his things. “Well, don’t come crying to me when she tells you what she’s on about.”

Hermione and Harry watched in silence as the rest of the team packed up and left. Even Quince was headed out to spend some time in his shop.

After a few minutes they were finally alone.

“So,” Harry drew out the word and Hermione tilted her head up and back to look up at him. “What was Draco talking about?”

“Well, we’ve hit a dead end.” She allowed herself to lean slightly back into him, and her chest unclenched slightly at his nearness.

“I know. When we talked yesterday you said you were running out of leads.”

“Yes, well I’d say those leads are officially out. So tomorrow I’m going to go bring the pyramid into the room with the box.”

Harry let go of her shoulder and took a step away from her. Her body leaned towards him still, wanting to follow his comforting presence. She had a moment of panic, thinking he was going to leave, until she saw him walk around the worktable so he could sit across from her.

“What is going to happen then?”

Hermione worried her lower lip with her teeth, thinking.

“We aren’t quite sure,” Hermione admitted reluctantly. “We believe that there may be a similar reaction to what happened when we broke the ward, a big wave of magic that may physically push us. We also think that the process will require a similar...sacrifice.”

Harry did not look happy. In fact, he looked very unhappy.

“So, it will be dangerous?”

Hermione shifted in her chair, uneasy. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I don’t think so, but I really can’t say for certain.”

Harry let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

His hand that rested on the work table clenched into a fist. Hermione reached out and placed her hand gently on his. His grip relaxed and he turned over his hand so that it pressed against hers, palm to palm. She intertwined their fingers and squeezed gently, trying to convey reassurance without saying anything. She couldn’t tell him it would be fine, because that would be a lie. She had no real idea what would happen. And the last thing she wanted to do was lie to him.

“Can I do it? Instead of you?”

Hermione was shaking her head before he had finished his sentence.

“No. For one, I think that the Wizengamot would have my head for risking the life of the last remaining Duke.” Harry shook his head as if to dismiss that concern, but Hermione continued, ignoring his disagreement, “and also, we know that the pyramid was drawn to me and that box reacted to me. It gave me this thing,” she lifted her right hand to show off the silvery line that still shone brightly against her tan skin. “And I just—I just have this feeling that I need to do it. I feel like I’m being called to it.”

Harry gave her a reluctant smile. “It sounds like you are being called by Magic. I know the feeling. It’s why I returned to the U.K., it’s why I sought you out for this project.”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s like a magnetic force. It’s almost like what I feel when I’m near you, but it’s different. It’s not as warm or as—” Hermione glanced down, blushing, “It’s not as electrifying. But it’s there, it’s something.”

He pulled her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss into the back of her hand. She met his eyes and he was looking up at her through his dark lashes. It was gentle and it made her breath catch in her chest with its tenderness.

“I don’t like it. But I know you have to. We will have to have back up in place and there will be a full team of healers on standby.” His tone was firm and brokered no argument.

Hermione rubbed small circles with her thumb into his wrist. She felt his pulse thudding, constant and calming.

“I agree. That would probably be for the best.”

Harry took a deep breath, and nodded firmly.

“Now that we have that settled; we need to get you home. You need to have a full night’s sleep.”

Hermione stood, letting go of his hand reluctantly. He helped her gather her things and they walked out of the workroom together, headed home.

* * *

**September 8, 2008**

Much to Hermione’s disappointment, Harry didn’t stay the night. He had tried to leave her at her door with a searing kiss and a lingering hug, but Hermione had dragged him in and had insisted he at least tuck her into bed again. He had humored her, grinning at her as he kissed her forehead while smoothing her blankets down. She had fallen asleep before she heard him leave.

Surprisingly, she had slept well, given that her plan for the next day was to put her life at risk.

Again.

For something that was supposed to be a research position, it seemed to involve quite a bit of risking her life.

The morning came too early. She took a quick shower and then wrapped her body in her well-loved terry cloth robe before making her way to the kitchen. She was trying to decide if she had an appetite when a sharp knock on her door startled her so much that she dropped her mug of very hot, very strong coffee.

“Fuck,” Hermione grabbed her wand from where it was holding up her hair and cleaned up the mess. There was a red angry spot from where the hot coffee had hit her hand so she placed a cooling charm on it.

Tying her robe more tightly around herself she made her way to her door, wand in hand. She peered through the peephole and her shoulders relaxed. She resecured her hair with her wand and opened her door.

Harry looked remarkably well rested for someone who hadn’t left her flat until 1 a.m. His robes were sharply pressed and his hair was tousled in a way that made her want to run her fingers through his hair. He was carrying a wicker picnic basket in one hand.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, ushering him in.

“I wanted to make sure you ate something this morning.” He dropped the basket he was carrying on her coffee table and caught her hand, pulling her into a hug.

The thrum of tension in her body loosened abruptly as he enveloped her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest and listened to the calming beat of his heart. Being so close to him felt like sinking into a hot bath; warm, relaxing, and decadent.

He picked her up and she let out an undignified squeak. He carried her to her battered couch and sat down, arranging her in his lap. She melted against his hard chest and he ran a hand up and down the length of her spine. She let out a pleased soft sound.

“How did you sleep?” His voice rumbled through his chest and she felt it under her cheek.

“Okay, considering.” Hermione picked at his robes and then turned so that her head rested against his shoulder. He smelled of sandalwood and spices and Hermione inhaled deeply, trying to imprint the memory of his scent into her memory.

Harry hummed in acknowledgement, continuing the soothing motion of his hand up and down the length of her back again and again.

They sat in silence for a minute and Hermione shut her eyes, enjoying being comforted by just being with him.

“Are you sure you have to do it today?” His voice was quiet, but it still broke the silence that had enveloped them.

Hermione nodded against his shoulder, her action nuzzling her closer, her nose against his throat.

Harry laughed softly. “I can't think when you do that.”

“Good,” Hermione breathed against the bare skin of his neck and watched as goose bumps appeared on his skin. “Then sit here with me and we can choose not to think for a while.”

They sat together, curled around each other, taking comfort from each other.

* * *

After what felt a second Hermione was standing outside the doors of the room that held the box. Harry had walked in ahead of her, but she wasn’t alone. A fully healer-squad was waiting outside the room, chatting amongst themselves. She swallowed hard, the visual reminder that she was putting herself in danger hitting her again.

She took a few steps even closer to the door and she could feel it. She didn’t remember if she had felt it when she had been in the room before, but she felt it now. This pull towards the room, it called to her, asking her to open the door and walk inside.

When they had conducted the additional tests on the box, it had been Nagnok who had actually done the tests. She had aided in reviewing the results, but they had all agreed that it would be best to keep her away from the artifact during the experiments, given its reaction to her. So this was the first time she had been back since she broke the ward.

She put her hand in her pocket and wrapped it around the pyramid, the point digging into her palm painfully.

Hermione took a shaky breath. Nearly a month and a half of work had led them to this point.

She placed her free hand on the door and felt the magic of the runes she knew lined the room buzz in recognition against her palm. The door opened to reveal more people than she expected. They all lined the back wall, as far away from the box as possible. Harry was already there, along with Draco, Nagnok, and Quince. Also present was Professor Dumbledore, Penelope Weasley, Theodore Nott, Fluer Delacour, and much to her shock, King Ragnok.

Shutting the door behind her, she gave a shallow bow to King Ragnok before focusing her attention on the box.

The opaque glass box was throwing off light in a way it hadn’t the last time she had been in the room. She bit down on her lip, letting the point of the pyramid dig deeper into her palm.

She walked towards the box, drawn in by its presence. It radiated power, and she didn’t understand how the other people in the room weren’t drawn in as well. Her steps were slow and deliberate, she held herself back from running towards the box.

The edge of the table that held the box hit her thighs and she realized she was as close as she could get. Her hand was still in her pocket; the pyramid had begun to heat as she approached and it was nearly searing into the skin of her hand.

She drew the pyramid out and held her breath, her teeth breaking the skin of her plush lower lip. She tasted blood.

The room was completely silent, like everyone was holding their breaths along with her.

Hermione moved to place the pyramid in the blank square at the top of the box. Her hand was an inch away before the pyramid jumped out of her palm. She barely repressed a flinch at the sudden movement. The pyramid clicked into place and began to rotate.

The box began pulsating light; bright then dark, bright then dark. The runes seemed to hold the light, and the gold edging began to gleam.

The pulse of the glowing box matched the rotation of the pyramid. The pyramid spun faster and faster until it was a blur of gold on the top of the box. The glow of the box matching, becoming near constant.

Hermione tried to take a step back, but found herself unable to move. Her legs were locked in place, and she couldn’t even bend her knees. Her pulse sped. It felt like it was in time to the pulse of the light from the box. Her heart was rattling against her ribcage, and adrenaline seeped into her veins.

Her breath rattled out of her chest in a harsh pant.

It felt like her world had narrowed to just the pulse of light. The rest of the world had fallen away. She could no longer see or hear the other people in the room. She could only hear her own shaky breath and the whooshing of her own heartbeat. The coppery tang of her own blood coated her mouth. The ground had fallen away from her feet. She could have been floating for all she knew.

Cracks of brighter light began to form on the box. The first crack came at the gold edging. From the crack a bright pure white light shone.

Her breath caught again.

It was beautiful.

The crack spread. The light was blinding. Hermione tried to turn her head or shield her eyes, but found she couldn’t move at all, her arms glued to her sides and her hands curled into fists.

Her heart was in her throat, and for a moment the panic overwhelmed her before ice trickled through her, starting at the top of her head, then spreading down through her chest, through her limbs, until a single thought came to her. This would kill her. The knowledge that she was about to die settled deep in her chest. It was oddly calming. Of course this would be what would kill her. Of course it would be now when her relationship with Harry was in its infancy and she was finally living.

Her vision was consumed entirely by light. She could not tell if her eyes were open or shut. She couldn’t hear anything. She couldn’t feel the rest of her body. All she knew was light.

Hermione willed herself to blink, to reach out, to do something. Her fingers twitched and she was receiving sensory input from them. She desperately tried to process what she was feeling. She couldn’t tell if her arm was raised or lowered, but the feeling against the pads of her fingers was cold, and the texture of whatever she was touching was smooth and then rough, and then smooth again.

She was touching the glass of the box. The change in texture was her fingertips glancing over the carved runes.

It was cool, which surprised her in a distant sort of way. She would have thought that such a bright light would be hot. A cool breeze emanated from the box and she felt it ruffle her unruly hair. It reminded her of the walks she would take around the Black Lake early in the fall or late in the spring. Cool, crisp, fresh.

She inhaled deeply, trying to see if it smelled like Scotland in the fall when everything around her went dark.

Hermione couldn’t tell if it was because she had finally managed to close her eyes or if it was because the box had killed her.

Her question was answered when she heard Harry bite out a curse from behind her.

She blinked her eyes several times, trying to clear her vision.

Several wands lit up behind her, illuminating the room with their eerie blue light.

The box was open.

And there was blood on her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my love language (seriously, I am always so delighted to hear what you think).
> 
> Please stay safe, hope you and yours are well.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ladyshjwblack for betaing, it is very much appreciated.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented/kudos'd/bookmarked/subscribed/read. I really appreciate every single one of you and am so incredibly blown away by the support and love this fic gets.

**September 8, 2008**

“Fuck.”

Hermione’s voice echoed out, breaking the silence.

The room was dark, illuminated by the eerie blue-white light of the lit wands behind her.

The box itself was laid open in front of her, the top thrown open. It took her a second to realize she was close enough to see into the box.

The lining was rich red velvet that looked luxurious to the touch. It didn’t have the faded look that old velvet normally had, making it clear that the inside of the box hadn’t seen light or touch in many, many years.

Nestled inside the box was a golden crown. It shone with a yellow-gold glimmer that forced Hermione to blink hard to clear her vision. The glow was contained by the box, only visible when she peered inside.

Her breath caught in her throat. It was beautiful and without thinking she reached a hand out to touch it. The touch of the metal on her fingertips made her consciousness snap back into her body. She realized her right hand was hovering over the open box, her fingertips resting on the crown. The metal was warm and practically hummed with magic under her touch.

Her hand was bloody, and with a start she realized that her skin had split around the mark around her wrist left by the box, and blood was flowing freely down her hand. She watched her blood drip down the golden crown in rivulets that looked like rubies, staining the velvet lining of the box near black.

Hermione regained control of her body and jerked her hand away, tripping backwards. She would have fallen if Harry hadn’t been right behind her. He caught her easily, one hand going to her hip, the other grabbing her elbow. They both stumbled back, just barely staying on their feet.

“Are you okay?” Harry’s voice was low and urgent as he spun her around to face him.

Hermione took stock of her body. She felt like she had when the box first grabbed her all those weeks ago. Her body felt electrified with power and she felt punch-drunk from it.

Harry was running his hands up and down her arms, eyes trying to take stock of all of her.

“I think—I think I’m fine.” she held up her right hand and caught sight of the now familiar band around her wrist. It was bloody, but through the blood she saw that instead of silver outlined in white it was pure gold, the same shade of the crown.

The movement of her hand made the blood still seeping from the mark around her wrist run down her forearm. The gold line was bloody and she had stained the cream cuff of her blouse crimson.

Harry’s hand was warm as it gripped hers. He ran the tip of his wand over the wounds on her fingers, murmuring a healing charm, closing the cuts.

His magic sent a bolt of electricity down her spine. Warmth pooled in her core and she felt her core clench around nothing.

She couldn’t stop a whimper from the back of her throat.

Harry’s head shot up. His hand tightened on hers and his eyes took on a hungry look.

Harry maneuvered them so that his body blocked her from the onlookers. He stowed his wand and brought his hand to cup her cheek, tilting her head so her eyes met his.

His tongue swept over his lower lip and her eyes were drawn to his mouth. She bit her lower lip. She knew from experience his mouth would feel as lush as it looked pressed against hers, that it would taste as sweet as it looked. The researcher in her wanted a repeat experience.

His thumb pulled her lower lip from between her teeth and ran over the marks left gently.

Hermione let out a shaky breath and shut her eyes, trying to rein in her physical response, reminding herself that she was in a room full of the most important people in the magical world.

Harry cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady.

Harry took half a step back, removing his hand from her face, but keeping his fingers laced through hers.

She turned back towards the open box. The crown still sat in the box, but the blood that had stained the gold had been absorbed.

She swallowed hard. 

“Miss Granger?” Hermione’s head jerked up, the bubble that was just Harry and her popped abruptly.

Hermione peered around Harry’s broad frame. It was Professor Dumbledore who had spoken. His wizened face was creased with worry, his bright blue eyes piercing in the low light.

“The box is open,” Hermione was hoarse, perhaps she had screamed at some, but she really couldn’t remember. She cleared her throat and tried again. “The box is open, there’s a crown inside.”

“A crown?” It was King Ragnok who asked the question, but his eyes weren’t on her, they were on the box.

“And why is your hand covered in blood?” Malfoy said sharply. 

Hermione glanced down at her hand that was laced with Harry’s. Both of their hands were bloody.

“Nott, call in your team, she needs a thorough check up. Penelope, see about getting the lights in here back on” Harry instructed, not letting her hand go. Nott gave them both a speculative look, but walked to the door obediently. Penelope busied herself casting a diagnostic on the runes that normally lit the room, but was obviously distracted, casting frequent glances between Hermione and the box.

“Do you think it will let us approach?” Asked Professor Dumbledore, mild curiosity in his voice.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. “Maybe? I’m not sure. It let me touch it, and Harry was able to come relatively close to it, but I don’t know how it might react to others.”

Nott bustled in, his team behind him. Hermione was surrounded by people poking and prodding at hers, various diagnostic charms that she didn’t recognize being cast and examined over her. Harry stuck close by her side, staying as close as possible, his large hand hovering over her lower back, casting wary glances at everyone who got too close to her. She endured the examination, only rolling her eyes once. But she couldn’t help but crane her neck every so often to check on the crown.

King Ragnok, Professor Dumbledore, Quince, Penelope, and Draco had all congregated around the crown. From her angle she could see Nagnok and Professor Dumbledore casting charms over the crown, as the others looked on. No one was touching the crown, but several were getting rather close.

A few minutes later the Healers declared her in perfect health and were sworn to secrecy by Theo Nott before being herded out of the room.

Hermione tried to surreptitiously slump against Harry, her back against his sturdy chest. The morning’s activities catching up with her. Being convinced that you were about to die was exhausting. She needed the comfort of his body against hers, but she also didn’t want to appear weak in front of the most important people in the entirety of the wizarding United Kingdom.

Harry pressed a kiss into the crown of her head and one of his large hands held her hip steady, his fingers rubbing small circles into bare skin where her shirt had become untucked from her dress trousers.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and Hermione shifted her gaze from the middle distance she had been staring off into, to the Headmaster.

“It does not appear we are able to touch the crown.” His voice was light and pleasant but he was eerily still and his eyes never waivered from her face.

“Have you made any determinations about its properties?” Hermione asked, reluctantly stepping towards the huddled group and out of Harry’s grasp. He didn’t let her go though, instead, he followed closely enough behind her that his warmth remained a constant against her back.

“I think you know what it is,” Draco said mildly, a single eyebrow raised. But as he shoved his hand in his pocket, she could see that it was trembling.

Hermione swallowed hard.

“The True Crown.”

Quince gave a jerky nod, a shade of awe in his ghostly visage. “That does appear to be the case.”

“Doesn’t—” Penelope halted, her wide eyes flicking from one person to another before settling on Hermione. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, and took a deep breath, trying again, “—doesn’t the True Crown find the next High King according to your research?” Her voice going to a high  squeak at the end.

Hermione gave a jerky nod. She had gotten close enough so that she was able to look down into the box again. The light being given off by the crown was dimmer, but still present. There was no trace of her blood on the gold, but there was a dark stain on the otherwise pristine velvet, which meant that she hadn’t hallucinated dripping blood on the crown itself.

“Yes,” King Ragnok had taken a step back from the knot of people and was looking at Hermione in a way that set her teeth on edge. It was calculating, not unfriendly, but it reminded her of when Professor Snape would look down his nose at her. It was the sort of look he would give her when he used to evaluate her NEWT level potions, she could never tell if he thought she was doing a good job, or if she had utterly failed.

It made her brain itch. 

“Miss Granger, are you able to touch the crown?” King Ragnok’s gaze remained fixed on her.

Hermione looked around the room carefully while hesitantly extending her hand. If this was the True Crown, she had been the one to be able to access it, the key to the box had come to her, the box had opened to her blood. If this was the True Crown…

She jerked her head slightly to try to interrupt her spiralling thoughts. Her fingertips brushed the top of the crown and the light that seemed to be emanating from it brightened noticeably. Penelope inhaled sharply. There was expectation in the wide eyes of all the spectators.

“Yes,” Hermione’s voice came out a hoarse whisper, so she cleared her throat to try again, “yes, I can touch it.”

“Can you—Hermione, can you pick it up?” Harry’s voice rumbled through his chest.

Hermione squared her shoulders and wrapped her hand around the crown. The angle was awkward, so one of the points of the crown dug into her palm, making her wince in pain. It was heavier than she would have thought, and she hit her knuckle on the edge of the box as she lifted it out.

Outside of the box, and in the light of the room, the details of the crown were more obvious. It was solid yellow-gold, shining and bright. Engraved in the gold were the outlines of plants; There were thistles, and oak leaves, but there were also various sorts of flowers that Hermione didn’t recognize. There were nine points on the crown, the top of each held a stone that seemed to shift colors in the light, maybe black opal, but she would have to look closer in better light. At the base there was a circle of smaller gems that looked like rubies. It reminded her of how her blood looked on the gold.

She held it in the air, tilting it slightly so that the light reflected from a different angle of its shiny surface. It still glowed from some internal light, but again it had dimmed, becoming less blinding and more pleasant.

It was growing warm in her hand. Not the burning hot, but pleasantly warm in a way that made her want to cuddle it to her chest.

“And none of you could touch it?” Hermione asked, not looking away from the mesmerizing play of light from the crown.

“The only person here who hasn’t tried yet is Harry,” Penelope murmured.

Hermione shifted, offering the crown to Harry without thinking. He looked from her face to the crown and back again before reaching out for it. As his hand approached the crown hummed, inaudible, but the vibration of it made its way up her arm to the center of her chest.

He was a foot away, then an inch, then a centimeter.

And then his fingers glanced off the surface, as if an ultra thin glass wall was between him and the crown.

Professor Dumbledore made a confused noise in his throat.

“So it’s just me, as of right now at least.” Hermione said. She wanted to set the crown down. Despite its weight, her arm didn’t ache and something about it made her want to keep it close, even put it on. But at the same time, she was having trouble forming coherent or complete thoughts. She wanted to get out of this room, she wanted to process what had just happened, she wanted a nap.

“Yes, just you.” Quince floated closer, his eyes on the crown.

“I just—I don’t know what this means.” Hermione was proud of how steady her voice was, despite the panic that was welling up in her stomach.

King Ragnok stepped towards her and executed an elegant low bow.

“The Goblin King recognizes the True King, or Queen as the case may be.”

* * *

Harry’s hand tightened around Hermione’s hip as she swayed on her feet.

All he wanted to do in this moment was to physically pick her up and carry her out of this room at a run.

His heartbeat was still elevated, and he could feel the oiled sweat on his back. He had been so terrified when Hermione had approached the box, and the fear hadn’t gone away.

“Queen?” Hermione’s voice was reedy and thin.

“The True Crown would not have come to you if you were not meant to rule, Your Majesty.” Nagnok too had bowed low to Hermione.

“But—I mean—we don’t have a monarchy.”

Draco cleared his throat, “actually Granger—” Draco yelped as Nagnok poked him with his awl, “fine,  _ Your Majesty _ , Merlin, that thing is sharp. Technically, we still have a monarchy, but the use of it simply fell by the wayside. In my research I found we never renounced the Wizard’s Council or the High King. We simply gave additional powers to the Wizengamot and the Ministry that were once held by the Council and the King. Both still technically retain power, though it has gone unexercised since 1707.”

“But if no one knows about the Monarchy, then how can it retain power?”

“Well Your Majesty—” Professor Dumbledore started

Hermione cut him off.

“Stop calling me that—I’m not—I just—” 

Harry felt her shaking and ran a soothing hand down her back. Her shoulders dropped slightly and she took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry Headmaster, it’s just that, this is all quite a lot. Please continue.”

Dumbledore dipped his head in acknowledgement, “I completely understand, this is quite a shock for all of us. As I was saying, even though the general public may not remember the High King, they will know that it is the will of Magic once they find out what has happened with the Wizengamot and with just now. There will, of course , need to be  a thorough and accurate reporting done, but the will of Magic is persuasive to every Witch and Wizard. We dare not go against the will of Magic.”

Hermione’s lower lip was white where she bit down on it. Harry was concerned she was going to bite through it in a moment. 

“Hermione,” he kept his voice pitched low and soothing, soft enough to keep the others from hearing, “why don’t we call it a day. Think you could use a rest?”

She nodded slowly but then stopped, her hand going to tangle in her hair and pull at it. “But I—I mean we—need to research whatever just happened. And I need to at least conduct some initial testing on the—on the crown to ensure that it’s safe? And maybe we need to move it? Is this room still secure? Even with the magical backlash? Are we sure that the crown even has anything to do with being able to activate the Ledger again? Is there a way to try it?” 

“Your—” Quince started, but she began to shake her head in jerky movements. Quince sighed, “fine, Hermione, you need to take a rest. I’m sure that took a lot out of you  magically , and emotionally. We can handle beginning more in depth research. The room is still secure, you can see for yourself, that the wards remain in place.”

“Your  Majesty , it would be an honor if you would allow the Goblin Kingdom to give you access to our full records and histories. I think you and your team would find them most enlightening.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you telling me,  _ Your Majesty _ , that you limited our access to your records previously ? That there was information you had about—” Hermione paused to wave her hand to encompass the box and the crown,”—about all of this that you didn’t disclose?” Her voice was sweet, but Harry could hear the ice beneath the surface, and from King Ragnok and Nagnok’s expressions it was clear they heard it as well.

“No, Your Majesty,” Nagnok said quickly, glancing at King Ragnok.

“Listen, it’s rather complicated with two Your Majesties in one room, please call me Hermione.”

Nagnok leveled a flat look at Hermione that made it clear that he probably wasn’t going to adhere to her wishes and continued.

“The archives are segmented, and some were entrusted to us by the last High King. We were unable to even reveal their existence until the True Crown found the next High King.”

Hermione’s hand tugged at the roots of her hair, and Harry wished they were alone so he could take her into his arms and give her the space to decompress. He knew that he couldn’t try to whisk her away. If she truly was the High Queen, then she needed to be able to be seen standing on her own. It would hurt her in the long run to look weak in front of these people, even though she may have counted some of them as friends.

So instead he settled for continuing to stroke her back and by moving in an inch closer so that she could lean against him subtly, and was gratified when she did.

“I believe we could all use some time to decompress. I will ensure that the room is secure and will discuss with King Ragnok and Mr. Malfoy access to the rest of the archive in possession of the Goblin Kingdom.”

Hermione nodded slowly, reluctantly. “Keep me updated though, I want to know if you make any discoveries.”

Harry paused his hand so that it rested on her lower back and turned to lead her out the door. Hermione followed his lead reluctantly, but she was practically swaying on her feet with exhaustion.

He exchanged a significant look with Draco, who gave him a sharp nod of acknowledgement. He trusted Albus, but he knew that Draco would absolutely have his back and give him a detailed and thorough report.

Hermione sighed defeatedly, turning to face the door. Harry kept his hand glued to her lower back as he ushered her out of the door.

* * *

Hermione was exhausted. She felt it deep in her bones. She wasn’t sure if it was because the ritual was actually draining, or if it was the deeply shocking accusation that she was some sort of royalty.

She allowed Harry to guide her, his presence solid behind her as they walked through the halls of the Ministry.

When he pressed the button for the Auror floor in the elevator she made a curious noise in the back of her throat.

“We’re stopping in my office and we’re going to go to Sirius’ house.”

He took a step closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and allowing her to lean back against him. She practically melted into his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder.

“I want to make sure you’re safe. I know you don’t have strong wards at your place, and even though the ones at my place are good, the ones at Dad’s are the strongest I’ve ever encountered. I want you tucked away somewhere no one can reach you. You’ve just become the most important person in wizarding Britain.”

Hermione could only muster a soft noise of protest, and Harry laughed softly in response.

“I know this is scary and new. But if King Ragnok and Dumbledore think that you are the most important person, you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who disagrees with him.”

She sighed, frustrated as they reached his floor. He resumed his guiding hand on her lower back and they made their way to his office, only getting a few curious looks from the aurors who were in the bullpen, filling out forms and chatting amongst themselves.

Once they got into the small floo room in the DMLE, she couldn’t help but give a deep breath of relief. She was glad to be away from all the other people. If she had been disconcerted by the attention of just the people in that room knowing she was—well, whatever they thought she was, then she didn’t want to know what would happen once the world knew.

Harry threw floo powder into the fire, and the next thing she knew she had arrived back at 12 Grimmauld Place.

At least this time she was too tired to be so nervous she vibrated, she thought in a detached sort of way. 

Each step that Harry guided her seemed to reinforce how exhausted she was. By the time they got up the stairs and he opened the door to what must have been a bedroom, Hermione was asleep on her feet. 

She had enough energy to glance around the room. It was obviously a boy’s room. There were Quidditch posters, and even a scantily clad witch she saw waving invitingly from over a well-worn desk. The four-poster bed was huge though, and reminded her of the one she had at Hogwarts, only bigger. The curtains were a rich red, slightly darker than the Gryffindor red she had grown up with.

She turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow. To her amusement he blushed a little.

“This was my room when we would come to visit London. Always in secret though, those papers were vicious. I haven’t...uh...redecorated. As you can tell.”

Hermione huffed out a soft laugh and sat on the edge of the bed, blinking slowly.

She had to at least take off her shoes, she thought through her sleep fogged brain. She leaned down, but Harry beat her to it.

“Here,” he murmured, “let me.”

He helped her out of her shoes and then her robe like a child. Hermione tried to help, but  was really only capable of  keeping her eyes open .

“I don’t want to sleep in my clothes,” she said pouting slightly.

It was Harry’s turn to offer a raised eyebrow. “Do you want me to undress you?”

She nodded, suppressing a wide yawn. “And I’ll also need some of your clothes. That’s what a good boyfriend does, isn’t it? I get to steal your clothes and you get to admire me in them?”

Harry let out full laugh, as his hands went to the buttons on her shirt, his talented fingers undoing her top with ease. She maneuvered herself so he could get her shirt and skirt off before falling back on the bed in her underwear.

She lifted up a hand and made a grabby motion, her eyes shut. A soft teeshirt made its way into her hand. She forced herself to sit back up and pulled on the teeshirt, Harry helping by pulling its hem down. It was big enough so that she knew if she stood it would at least cover her butt. 

She was about to lie back down, when she realized her bra was still on, so she did the fun trick of taking it off under her clothes and pulling it through the arm of the shirt. She flung it somewhere she hoped she would be able to find it in the morning and crawled back on the bed, settling under the blankets.

Though she knew full well it was still daytime, she reached out her hand again, beckoning Harry over.

His solid warm presence curled around her, tucking her into his body. He radiated safety and calm and she felt herself sinking into sleep.

“I’ve got you,” Harry whispered into her hair. He pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. “We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is keeping safe/healthy.
> 
> This chapter definitely took longer than expected. I can't promise a predictable posting schedule due to life things, but I can promise that the fic will be finished, hopefully by the end of the summer. You may have noticed that the chapter count changed to a "?." I had thought it would be 40 chapters, but it's looking more like 30 chapters, give or take.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Comments are my love language!
> 
> -Ely


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ladyshjwblack for betaing, it is very much appreciated.
> 
> Again, I can't express how much the support and love you all give this fic. The feedback has been amazing and I am deeply appreciative!

**September 8, 2008**

Hermione awoke to the sound of voices engaged in a heated debate. 

Yelling, really.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. The lack of light from the window told her it was late, though exactly how late was unclear.

The voices grew louder. She stood, her bare feet sinking into a plush grey carpet. She wiggled her toes and then paused when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. 

It became suddenly clear that there was a flaw in her plan to go find out what the ruckus outside was. She was only wearing one of Harry's tee-shirts that just barely covered her bottom. It looked like it was an old Quidditch jersey of his. It said “Potter” in big block letters. In a flash she realized she didn’t know where her clothes were. Or even where a pair of pants of his she could borrow would be.

A sigh of frustration escaped her lips as she looked around the room, hands on her hips.

A pop startled her so badly she jumped. A house elf bowed low to Hermione as she tried to recover from her shock.

“Would Mistress Your Majesty like something to eat? Drink? Does Mistress Your Majesty want a bath?” The female elf’s voice was a high squeak. She was wearing a fetching little dress that reminded Hermione of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.

Hermione shut her eyes for a second, trying to dispel the visceral negative reaction she had to being called Your Majesty. It didn’t really work.

“I’m so sorry, what’s your name? And please, call me Hermione” she said, leaning down so she was on eye level with the elf.

“I is sorry Mistress Herm—Hermin—Minnie, for not introducing myself, I is Winky. Master Harry told me to watch for Mistress Minnie to wake up while he was busy. I is telling him that if he was an excellent partner, he would stay with Mistress Minnie, but he not listen.” Winky’s tart tone made her disapproval of Harry’s actions very clear.

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand as she tried to decide what to do.

“Could you get me something to wear? I’d like to go find Harry.”

Winky eyed her, obviously not pleased with her request. “Winky thinks Mistress Minnie should stay in bed, you is still needing sleep. And food, you is also needing food.”

“I promise, I’ll have something to eat and go back to bed after I find Harry. I have the sneaking suspicion that whatever they’re yelling about outside has something to do with me.” 

“It does,” tutted Winky, abruptly popping away and then back with a set of robes in her arms. “Master Harry is trying to make sure that Mistress Minnie is protected, but bad men from the Ministry is trying to interfere.”

Hermione took the robes from Winky gratefully. They were the type she could put on over her clothes and still look presentable, even if she wasn’t wearing pants. “Can you tell me who’s out there, Winky?”

“Right now it is Master Harry, Mister Sirius, Mister Remus, Lady Cissy, Lord Lucy, and Minister Shacklebolt. Sir Avery tried to request an audience, but the wards wouldn’t even let him knock.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully as she pulled on the robes. She was slightly surprised that they were exactly her size. Winky popped away again and returned with a lovely pair of house slippers.

She made her way slowly to the door, finding she was still tired from the morning’s activity.

The door swung open noiselessly, and she padded down the stairs. Winky walked ahead of her, guiding her to where the argument was happening. The voices got louder as she approached the sitting room.

“Are you kidding me right now Kings?” Hermione recognized Sirius’ voice, but it sounded angrier than she had heard it before. “If we do that, it will put her at enormous risk!”

Winky clicked her fingers, and the door to the sitting room swung open dramatically in front of her. 

“Her Majesty, the High Queen Hermione Jean Granger,” Winky announced into the room, her high squeaky voice authoritative.

Hermione pressed her lips together in disapproval and shot Winky a look that made it clear that she was unhappy with the elf’s over the top announcement.

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, doing her best to enter the room with as regal an air as she could manage. It wasn’t like she had anything to lose pretending to be confident in this situation. It would only hurt her if she didn’t enter this room acting like she was really the High Queen, whatever that meant. At the very least it would give her leverage to negotiate the best position and the best outcome. Her heart was still in her throat though.

“Good evening,” her eyes went to each person in the room, lingering on Sirius, who was scowling and slightly out of breath, his face red. He and Kingsley were standing in the center of the room while Remus lingered by the fireplace, his hand on Harry’s shoulder, speaking to him in a low voice. Harry looked quietly furious, his entire body tense. Lord and Lady Malfoy lounged on a sofa, looking like the picture of aristocratic disinterest. 

Both Lord and Lady Malfoy stood as she entered, and everyone else turned to face her. To her shock, all the men, including Lord Malfoy and the Minister of Magic himself, dropped into low bows. The curtsey that Lady Malfoy executed was straight out of an etiquette book. 

Hermione swallowed hard, she felt the urge to hunch her shoulders, to become smaller, but she resisted.  _ Bargaining position _ , she kept reminding herself,  _ bargaining position _ . 

“Please stand. I believe I was under discussion?” She kept her voice level and calm. 

Harry was the first to rise and gave her a crooked smile that made her heart clench. She flashed a smile in return, but it fell off of her face as she quickly turned her attention to the other occupants of the room. She did her best to channel the way she thought royalty might behave. She made sure her back straight, her shoulders were down, and that her hands were folded neatly in front of her. She may not fully understand whatever happened that morning, but it obviously meant something to everyone else, and she was loath to give up that power, whether or not she thought it was real.

“Your Majesty,” Sirius rose from his bow and gave her a playful smile, “how wonderful it was to learn that the House of Black was playing host to royalty.” He went to her and kissed her hand, bowing again over it in his predictably over the top fashion. Remus sighed audibly, and Sirius’ smile widened. 

His teasing tone had Hermione repressing the urge to roll her eyes, but it brought a slight smile to her face.

“Sirius, you were just yelling at someone, weren’t you?” Hermione prompted. She was eager both to get some information about what had happened when she was asleep, and to get the attention off of her.

Harry walked over to her and took her by the hand, leading her to an empty wingback chair. She shot him a grateful look, but could not fully relax, perching on the edge of the chair. Lord and Lady Malfoy sat back down and Harry stayed standing just to the right of her chair.

“I was yelling, wasn’t I?” Sirius turned to Minister Shacklebolt, his face going stormy again.

“Your Majesty,” Minister Shacklebolt ignored Sirius’ glare and instead focused on Hermione, “When you...claimed the crown some noticeable changes occurred which has forced our hand.”

She tilted her head and nodded for him to proceed. Her stomach clenched though and she hid her hands in the folds of her robe, lest they shake and give away her nerves.

“When you claimed the True Crown, the current Ledger, which is held in the Wizengamot chambers, disintegrated. Unfortunately, that happened as the Wizengamot was in session to debate a minor bill. So the disintegration of the Ledger was witnessed not only by a majority of the Wizengamot, but by the press as well.”

Sirius threw up his hands in exasperation and Lucius gave him a quelling look, which Sirius promptly ignored. “I still don’t understand why you insisted on debating something that couldn’t be voted on!”

“You agreed at the time!” Minister Shacklebolt bit out, obviously frustrated, still not looking at Sirius.

Sirius scoffed, but allowed Remus to lead him over to the fireplace.

“So the press knows the Ledger disintegrated, what does that mean?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice patient. Her hand clenched and unclenched.

“Well, they demanded an explanation.” Minister Shacklebolt looked slightly nervous, a far cry from the confident demands he had made the last time they were together.

“And what explanation did you give?” She kept her tone mildly curious, though she was confident she wouldn’t like the answer.

Harry’s hand dropped to her shoulder and gave it a subtle squeeze. She leaned back into the touch.

Minister Shacklebolt ran a hand over his bald head and looked chagrined. “I—we told them that the High Queen had been found.”

“Foolish,” Lady Malfoy’s voice cut through the room. She remained seated, but her glare was icy. It was something that this slight woman made Minister Shacklebolt look at her with an expression that resembled genuine fear.

“You completely gave up the opportunity to build the narrative in your mindless panic. Now we will have to scramble to get ahead of the story.” If Hermione had been Minister Shacklebolt, she would have withered away from the disdain in Lady Malfoy’s tone.

“I had no choice!” Minister Shacklebolt was beyond exasperated, “the choice was to tell them or let the public think the government had fallen out of favor with Magic and that there was no replacement! It would have been anarchy!”

Lady Malfoy did not respond, though the sneer that played across her face made her feelings on the matter clear.

Hermione cleared her throat.

“And what exactly have the papers said?” 

Lord Malfoy, who had been sitting in silence, summoned a paper from a side table with a wave of his wand and sent it to Hermione.

She unfolded it and shook the  _ Special Evening Edition _ of the Daily Prophet out.

_ Ministry Falls, Muggleborn High Queen Found _

She quickly skimmed the article. It wasn’t flattering. It described her as an aging bookish spinster, whose plain looks and career focus had driven away all her romantic partners. 

It wasn’t wildly inaccurate either.

Surprisingly, there was no scepticism about her position as High Queen. The Prophet seemed to readily accept that she would be the next leader of Wizarding Britain. However, they didn’t seem to regard her with much respect or deference. One line stuck out to her, and her eyes circled back to it half a dozen times before she put down the paper.

_ Sure, she’s our leader, but can she actually lead? _

Hermione glanced up to see everyone was again watching her. She took her time and folded the paper into a thin rectangle, before setting it on an end table next to her.

“So,” she said, glancing between Minister Shacklebolt and Lady Malfoy, “if this is how the papers reacted, how did the Wizengamot react?”

Harry’s fingers tightened around Hermione’s shoulder. She steeled herself, it couldn’t have gone well.

“Well, the other thing that happened after the old Ledger was destroyed, was that a new one appeared in its place. There is an issue though. None of the old laws transferred.”

She was unable to stop her eyebrows from shooting up. “Are you telling me that at this moment there are no laws in the entirety of this country?”

“Not quite,” drawled Lord Malfoy from his position on the sofa, “the treaties still remain in effect. This includes all treaties with the various magical creatures like the Goblins and the Centaurs, as well as treaties with other nations, including the Statute of Secrecy. These treaties codify some basic laws, including those against things like murder and theft. So to say that there are  _ no _ laws is an exaggeration.”

“Then why does Minister Shacklebolt look so nervous?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the Minister who had uncharacteristically begun to wring his hands. 

“Because,” Lord Malfoy sat a little straighter, his eyes shifting briefly between Minister Shacklebolt and herself, “all the laws that gave the Ministry power are gone. Technically, none of the Ministry departments exist anymore. And there is now no funding for any position.” 

“So you’re telling me that there are only very basic laws, but there is no body to enforce them, and that hundred of witches and wizards just lost their jobs with no notice?” Hermione spoke slowly, hoping that she had interpreted the situation incorrectly. She managed to keep her tone light, but she could feel the panic welling up inside of her.

“Is there a process for reinstating some of these laws? Or at least ensuring that the employees of the Ministry can continue to draw a paycheck?” Her hands were clenched so tightly she could feel her nails cut into her palms.

“You need to pass them.” Sirius said from his place by the fire, almost apologetically. Hermione's head turned sharply to look at him.

“Well technically,” Lord Malfoy cut in, “the Wizengamot must first vote for them and then you must pass them—”

“If you’re going to get into technicalities Lucy—” Sirius bit back, rolling his eyes at Lord Malfoy.

“And has the Ministry begun to vote on these so I can pass them as quickly as possible?” Hermione interrupted. As amusing as these antics would have been on any other day, her patience was wearing thin.

“That’s another problem.” Sirius ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair.

“You mean to tell me that the peers of the realm, who are charged with protecting its people, are holding up this process?” Her voice was slightly shrill by the end of her sentence.

Harry used his thumb to rub small circles into the skin of her neck. It made warmth seep into her muscles, but it wasn’t enough to make her unclench.

“A faction is” Harry’s voice was low and angry, but his hand on her remained gentle.

“Sir Avery is at the front. He and his sycophants demand a formal coronation to ensure you truly are the High Queen.” Lady Malfoy said.

Hermione’s hand went to her wrist. She remembered how Sir Avery had crushed her wrist in his fist, and how he had been so certain of his superiority. She again swallowed hard and blinked once, then twice.

“What is a formal coronation?” She asked. “Can’t I just put the crown on my head?”

“Well, the Goblins found the documents that detailed how High Kings were crowned in the past. And Penelope didn’t properly mark the document as top secret, so the Wizengamot got a hold of it.” There was a surprising amount of contempt in Remus’ voice. Though she didn’t know the man well, he had been mild mannered and good humoured during all their interactions. 

Hermione did sigh out loud this time.

“In under—Harry, how long has it been?”

“Ten hours.” Harry offered. His thumb hadn’t stopped its soothing motion on her neck, and she was grateful for that bit of comfort.

A shocked scoff escaped her lips though the cool facade she had tried to maintain. 

“Word travels fast when the government spontaneously dissolves.” Lady Malfoy said crisply. Her hand smoothed over her hair, which was already perfect.

“Okay then,” Hermione worried her lip for a second in thought. “What do I need to do for a coronation ceremony?”

It couldn’t be much. She tried to recall what she had learned in primary about Queen Elizabeth’s coronation. The crown? A fancy robe? Some blokes with trumpets heralding her arrival? Surely with magic those things would be easy enough to conjure into existence.

“It involves a lot of pomp and circumstance.” Minister Shacklebolt said. “The issue is that the documents provided by the Goblins mention a specific place where the coronation must be held. They call it Avalon.”

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh. “Avalon? The legendary island where Excalibur was forged? Whose exact location has been lost to us for centuries? That Avalon?”

Minister Shacklebolt grimaced.

“...yes.”

Hermione was silent as she processed. No one interrupted her.

Her hands had again curled into fists. She tried to focus on the pain that the impressions of her nails had left in her palms to focus her train of thought. It helped a little.

“This a stalling tactic to further undermine me and make me seem powerless. The Prophet article more than left the door open for that. If my—” Hermione paused and wet her lips, forcing herself to continue, “—my  _ reign _ starts with hundreds of people out of jobs, no one to enforce laws on the streets, and chaos, then it certainly will let others to strong arm their way into power.”

Lady Malfoy gave Hermione a sharp smile that was both predatory and proud. It made her nervous. 

“You are correct, Your Majesty.” Lady Malfoy offered Hermione a deep nod from her seated position.

Hermione wildly had the urge to tell these people to let Sir Avery do what he wanted. She didn’t want power. All she wanted was to be able to live a quiet life and do her research in peace. Maybe marry Harry. The most people ever under her command had been a research team of ten back in Paris. She had always craved knowledge, and to some extent recognition. But this went well beyond that.

But she remembered again how Sir Avery had left marks on her skin, remembered the sneer on his face, like she was less than filth.

She didn’t want power, but more than that, she didn’t want him or his cronies to have power.

She unclenched her fist and consciously relaxed her shoulders. She would have to play this game, whatever it was, at least for now. Maybe she would be able to find a way out of this, but for now she couldn’t just walk away, not if it meant Sir Avery being in charge or people going without pay.

“Do we have any idea where Avalon may be?” Hermione asked.

“It is possible that there is a lead.” Sirius said. “Dumbledore sent word that a tower in Hogwarts that was previously blocked off has now been opened. It seems to have coincided with your claim on the True Crown. He can’t enter the tower, but from what he can see, it’s in pristine condition.”

“Also Draco, along with other researchers lent to us by King Ragnok are still combing through the High King archives in the Goblin Realm.” Lord Malfoy offered.

Good. Draco would bring back reliable information. She had seen, during their time together, that he was diligent, thorough, and fast. She trusted he would be able to competently achieve the desired outcome.

But she hesitated, remembering how the Goblins had held back information from her. “Can we trust these other researchers?”

Lord Malfoy shrugged. “Draco is keeping an eye on them, but King Ragnok seemed eager to help.”

Hermione nodded, that would have to be enough, at least for now.

“So what do I need to do today?”

“Give an interview.” Lady Malfoy immediately said. 

“I’m not—I don’t” Hermione stuttered.

“You are and you must.” Lady Malfoy’s tone brokered no argument.

“About what?” Hermione was baffled. They already had published an article about her.

“Well for one about your impressive resume.” Sirius said, grinning at her. “We’ve lined up others to boast about your accomplishments. We even have a quote from Snivellus saying you were above average.”

Hermione frowned in confusion. Snivellus?

“ _ Professor Snape _ was...willing to give you such a glowing review once he heard what had happened.” Remus clarified.

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, unsure of whether to laugh or not at Sirius’ habit of giving others unfortunate nicknames.

Instead she asked, “and what is that supposed to do?”

“Though you rule with the will of Magic, you still also most have the good will of the people.” Lady Malfoy sounded more regal than Hermione could ever hope to. “Right now they see you as a powerless nobody. They must see you as the Queen.”

* * *

Lady Malfoy hustled Hermione upstairs to get ready for the interview.

Hermione desperately wished she could go back to bed. Ten hours of sleep had not been enough to fully recover from the magical and emotional shock of the day. She and her team had also been working nearly flat out for weeks now, so the exhaustion was bone deep.

And her mother. Hermione had totally forgotten. She hadn’t told her mother about any of this. How would Joyce even deal with Hermione’s new position as the High Queen? Would it even matter?

The stress that had been added on in the meeting downstairs certainly hadn’t helped either.

Lady Malfoy had informed Hermione that they had invited over a reporter. Hermione had been trying to decide if she should wash her face when Lady Malfoy had pulled her out of her chair without any ceremony, insistent on ensuring that Hermione looked at least presentable. 

Hermione was slightly nervous at what Lady Malfoy’s definition of presentable might entail.

After they had walked into the room Hermione had woken up in, Hermione broke the silence.

“Who will I be speaking with?”

Lady Malfoy looked at her assessingly.

“Rita Skeeter. Dobby?”

The house elf popped into the room and offered Lady Malfoy a bow, and then turned to offer Hermione a bow so low his ears touched the floor. When Dobby rose, awe was clear across his face, though he said nothing.

“Can you fetch my burgundy gown from fall 2006? It will need alterations, but it should suit her coloring. And can you ask Harry if he has any heirloom jewelry he is intending on gifting her? Something in gold. If there are stones then they should be diamonds, opals or onyx. Pearls are acceptable but not preferred.”

Dobby nodded, a soldier taking his marching orders from his general, and popped away.

Hermione was left with her mouth slightly open in surprise until she could find her voice again.

“Heirloom—gift?”

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, Your Majesty.” Lady Malfoy managed dry and bored better than anyone else Hermione had ever met.

“But I—” Hermione stopped, unsure how much she should reveal. She decided against saying anything and instead let Lady Malfoy push her into a conjured chair.

After a minute of silence, Hermione could not help herself.

“Why is everyone treating it like a foregone conclusion that I will rule?”

“Because it is, Your Majesty.” Lady Malfoy said distractedly, running her hands through Hermione’s hair, somehow managing not to pull at knots. That was a feat Hermione herself had never mastered. “You have been selected by Magic, and whether you believe it or not, Magic will have no other ruler. There is no abdication, no retirement. You will rule until Magic deems it fit that you no longer are fit.”

“I don’t—” Hermione let out a frustrated huff as Lady Malfoy began pulling on her hair, “—I don’t understand why there is so much faith put in the will of Magic.”

“Because we are made of Magic. Our very souls are Magic. How could we not follow something that makes up our innermost essence?”

Hermione rubbed a hand across her sternum. What Lady Malfoy was saying made sense, the pull to Harry, to the crown. It had felt inevitable. She could no more deny her attraction to Harry then she could her own heartbeat at this point.

Lady Malfoy seemed to take her silence as acceptance and proceeded to wave her wand in a rather complicated pattern. Hermione’s hair began to weave itself into a braid that wrapped around her head like a crown.

“This will have to do since Harry said that you left the real one at the Ministry.” Lady Malfoy said, still eyeing her with something less than satisfaction.

Hermione sat stock still, not wanting to get in the way of Lady Malfoy’s wand, which was still in motion. 

Dobby popped back in briefly to drop off a pile of fabric and then away again.

“Put this on” Lady Malfoy shoved the dress into Hermione’s hands.

Hermione stood, trying to shake out the fabric to find how to put it on. Lady Malfoy took a step back, letting Hermione struggle for what felt like too long, before raising a single brow. 

“Are you unable to find how to put on a dress?”

A flush made its way up the back of Hermione’s neck as she shook her head. It took her a few more seconds to find the front of the dress. As soon as she did, Lady Malfoy plucked the garment from her hands, and began making sharp jabs with her wand against the fabric. Hermione watched as the fabric of the gown lengthened and expanded.

After about a minute Lady Malfoy nodded, apparently satisfied with the changes.

“Put this on,” She instructed, handing the dress back. Hermione stripped her clothes mechanically. After seven years of living in an all girls dorm, Hermione didn’t have much modesty left.

She was down to her underwear when Lady Malfoy tutted audibly. Hermione turned to look at her, but Lady Malfoy was looking down at her knickers.

“Those are unacceptable.” Lady Malfoy said flatly. 

“Winky,” she called out, “Her Majesty will need a whole new trousseau.” 

Winky popped into the room and curtsied low. “Yes, Lady Malfoy,” the elf squeaked. Winky then whipped out a measuring tape from one of her little pockets and began holding it against Hermione’s body. The tape was measuring the width of her kneecap before Hermione thought to object.

“Winky—Lady Malfoy, I don’t know—”

“Nonsense, you are the most powerful woman in this country. Underwear that are obviously from your Hogwarts days are no longer acceptable. You are a full grown woman and all your attire must reflect that. Now take off your bra.”

Hermione opened her mouth to object but was cut off as Winky magiced away her bra and then Lady Malfoy yanked the dress over her head in an efficient motion.

The dress was beautiful. The dark burgundy silk fabric made Hermione’s tan skin look like it was glowing. There were three quarter length sleeves and a lovely sweetheart neckline bodice that was high enough so that even her conservative grandmother wouldn’t have turned up her nose at it. It wrapped around her torso and flared out at her waist, the bottom just brushing the top of her feet.

She rarely paid any attention to her clothing, and most of it was secondhand and thrifted. This luxury was entirely foreign to her.

Lady Malfoy eyed her critically, but gave a stiff nod after a moment of inspection.

“Hold still,” Lady Malfoy again brandished her wand in Hermione’s direction, this time with it pointed towards her face. Hermione froze in place as Lady Malfoy performed more beauty charms than Hermione even knew existed.

After several minutes of silence, in which Hermione barely dared to breath, Lady Malfoy pulled away and turned Hermione to face the mirror in the room.

“There,” Lady Malfoy looked satisfied with her work, and Hermione had to agree. The makeup was subtle and tasteful. Her skin tone was evened out, her cheeks had a healthy flush and her eyes sparkled under long dark lashes.

“This interview will be with Rita Skeeter.” Lady Malfoy brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of Hermione’s shoulder and adjusted the neckline of the dress.

“I’m familiar with her work,” Hermione said, shifting uncomfortably. “She wrote a salacious piece about Viktor Krum and me when I was in Fourth Year. He had asked me to the Yule Ball, but I turned him down. She stated that he had retracted his invitation after he found out about my dark past, which apparently included multiple lovers at the same time. I hadn’t ever kissed anyone when that was published.” Her mouth twisted into a frown. She still had a sour taste in her mouth, all these years later.

“Well, we will be around to keep her in line. And we have some information that can reign in some of her baser impulses.” Lady Malfoy said.

“How?” Hermione asked, still eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

“Unregistered animagus.”

Hermione smirked. “Well that would have been useful to know back then.”

Lady Malfoy nodded in approval as she herded Hermione out the door. 

Hermione tucked her want into a hidden pocket in the dress and allowed herself to be shepherded out to face this interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is keeping safe and healthy
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr and my ask box is open](misselylux.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Comments are my love language
> 
> -Ely


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ladyshjwblack for betaing, it is very much appreciated.
> 
> This one is early because I feel like it.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who commented/kudos'd/bookmarked/subscribed/read. I appreciate each and every one of you!

**September 8, 2008**

Harry met Hermione at the bottom of the stairs. He had changed into dress robes at some point and he looked every inch a Duke.

He looked her up and down several times before his appreciative gaze met hers. She blushed again, this time to the roots of her hair. He smirked knowingly and a small grin tucked into the corners of her mouth in response.

Harry offered her his hand as she descended the last few steps, drawing her in close.

“You look marvellous,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss on to her forehead. She looked up at him and he took the opportunity to press a kiss into the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you.” Despite her nerves, Hermione was unable to keep the wide smile off of her face.

“Come on you two love birds, we want you settled in the Visitor’s Sitting Room before that fraud gets here” said Sirius making a shooing motion with both of his hands.

Harry rolled his eyes good naturedly at his father’s antics and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Shall we then, Your Majesty?” Harry asked, tilting his head to the room in question.

She nodded and let Harry lead her to a room she hadn’t been in before. 

She understood instantly why it was called the Visitor’s Sitting Room. It was extraordinarily formal, and very uncomfortable. All the furniture in the room looked like it belonged on Antiques Roadshow. There was a tapestry on one wall that she could have sworn she had seen in The Vatican when she had gone to visit as a child.

Harry ushered her into the closest thing to a throne in the room. It was a stately and sturdy chair in the center of the room. The wooden back was intricately carved and when she sat on it she felt very much on display. She perched on the edge, feeling very out of place.

Harry knelt down in front of her and took her face in his hands. She nuzzled into his palm, unconcerned about her make-up seeing as beauty charms resisted smudging.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, his voice low. The others seemed to be giving them a moment to themselves, as no one else had entered the room yet.

Hermione resisted the automatic urge to say she was fine and did him the courtesy of actually considering his questions.

“Overwhelmed, certainly. But I can make it through this interview. Especially if it means that Sir Avery looks like an asshole.” She finally said after a few seconds.

“Good girl,” Harry kissed her forehead before pulling away. He remained at eye level with her as he reached into his pocket, drawing out something that caught the light and glimmered.

Thick bands of gold alternated with thin ones, creating a heavily layered look to the necklace. What Hermione was sure were real diamonds hung from some of the bands. 

She opened her mouth, but promptly closed it when she realized she had no idea what to say.

“Aunt Cissa said you needed jewellery with this dress.” Harry stood and secured the necklace around her neck, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin of her throat.

“Harry,” her hand went to the necklace and skated across the metal, “this is—”

“Don’t tell me it’s too much,” Harry interrupted, his hand resting on the back of her neck. The warmth from his palm wove its way down her spine and curled in her chest, making her feel satisfied but hyper aware of his touch. 

He reached back into his pocket with his free hand and drew out a pair of earrings that matched the necklace.

“You’re going to have to help me with these,” he said with a smile, “I’ve never had to put these on someone before.”

Hermione secured the earrings, disbelief still making her tongue tied.

“Beautiful,” Harry said, squeezing the back of her neck gently.

“I can’t keep these,” Hermione said, looking up at Harry’s face with wide eyes.

“Of course you can. They belong to the Duchess of Llŷr. Even though your title of High Queen will override, you’ll still be the Duchess, and so this still will be yours. You’re just getting it a little early.”

Her heart soared, and she resisted the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. Even though they had both affirmed to each other that what was between them was real and long term, hearing him say that, so openly, still made her giddy.

Harry removed his hand as Sirius, Remus, Minister Shacklebolt and both Malfoys strode into the room.

“Isn’t my future daughter-in-law so lovely?” Sirius cooed, bringing his folded hands under his chin and batting his eyes dramatically. Harry sighed in annoyance from where he stood at her shoulder.

Lord Malfoy reached out and smacked Sirius on the back of the head without even looking at the other man. Hermione stifled her laugh, but Remus and Harry didn’t.

The rest of the room began to arrange itself around her. Hermione tried to work out why as she watched them move without communicating. Harry stayed standing by her right shoulder, slightly behind her make-shift throne. Minister Shacklebolt took up a position by the door, like a sentry. By her left shoulder Lord Malfoy sat on a sofa, leaving an open chair between them. His wife sat next to him. Sirius settled on a bench to Harry’s right, and Remus next to him.

No one moved as the door to the room swung open to reveal Nagnok, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Draco. They all offered Hermione low bows, which she acknowledged with what she hoped as a stately nod. Her heart was beating too fast and her mouth tasted sour with nerves though, so she really couldn’t tell how it came off.

The newcomers also moved into position. Draco took up a place opposite Minister Shacklebolt at the door while Nagnok found a seat by the fire, near where Remus and Sirius sat. Professor Dumbledore wandered over to sit in the chair Lord Malfoy left open, right by the left edge of her chair.

They must have discussed or arranged this while she had been dressing. Either that, or there was more to aristocratic protocol than she knew.

Her curiosity pressed at her, and she was about to turn to ask Harry, when the door once more swung open and Rita Skeeter walked in the room accompanied by someone carrying a very large antique-looking camera.

Rita Skeeter looked much like she had the time Hermione had seen her on the one occasion the reporter had been at Hogwarts. She must be near middle-aged for a witch, but still dressed in garish colors and wore slightly too much eye makeup. Her hair was bottle blond and a feather-covered fascinator perched on an up-do that would have been more at place at the Royal Ascot than at this impromptu interview.

“Your Majesty,” Skeeter simpered, bobbing a curtsy that made her hat wobble on her head. “It’s been so long, the last time I saw you, you were just a child!”

The photographer also bowed, but looked much more ill at ease than Skeeter, his eyes darting from one occupant of the room to the other.

Hermione felt the muscles in her face tense as she resisted the urge to frown at the woman.

Skeeter smirked at Hermione and her insecurities hit her like a fast-moving train. This was a mistake. Her stomach turned over and she bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. She didn’t know what to say, why did she think that she could survive this interview, let alone being Queen or even pretending to be Queen.

While she was having her internal crisis, Professor Dumbledore withdrew his wand and conjured a very uncomfortable looking chair for Skeeter to sit in. The photographer first looked to Skeeter, who made an enthusiastic motion with her hand to get him to begin taking photos, and then to Draco by the door, who gave the man a slight nod. This was enough for the photographer to bring the camera to his face and begin snapping photos. 

The flash made Hermione wince, but she did her best to keep her expression neutral, though her insides still felt like they were writhing with anxiety.

“Please,” Hermione said, keeping her voice disinterested, “sit.”

Skeeter perched on the edge of the chair and primly crossed her legs.

“It’s so nice of you to see me on such short notice,” Skeeter reached into her purse and withdrew an electric green quill and a piece of parchment.

Professor Dumbledore made a tsking noise, shaking his head slightly.

“Now Ms. Skeeter, you know that your Quick Quotes Quill isn’t a verbatim record,” Professor Dumbledore chided gently, “I just so happen to have this Self Writing Quill here for you to use.”

He reached into his robes with a little flourish and produced an elegant dark blue quill. Skeeter reached out slowly, obviously reluctant, and took the quill from the Headmaster. 

“How kind of you,” she held it with her thumb and index finger, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“We, of course, appreciate your dedication to the truth.” Harry’s voice was low with warning.

Skeeter narrowed her eyes and looked quickly between the quill and each person in the room before settling back in her chair warily.

“Of course. Well, why don’t we start at the beginning. Your Majesty, can you tell me about your childhood?”

* * *

What felt like ten hours later, Dobby ushered Rita Skeeter and her photographer out the door.

It had only been two hours.

Hermione didn’t relax though, and Harry tried to mask his concern. He stayed standing next to her chair, the most ostentatious one Remus had been able to conjure on such short notice. It really did resemble a throne.

She had done a spectacular job. She had managed to remain cool and collected, even in the face of Skeeter’s most impolite questions, including about her sexual history and impolite questions like whether her Muggle parents had actually taught her to read.

He had resisted the urge to throttle the woman as Hermione had doled out brief but sharp responses that even his Aunt Cissa looked proud of. The only signs of her discontent was the clenching of her fist in the fabric of the skirt of her dress and how her lips pursed together in disapproval between every question.

Hermione stood abruptly, and everyone in the room did so as well. She pressed her lips together so tightly that her mouth went white. He touched her shoulder gently, and he felt the tense muscles relax under his hand.

“Thank you all, for all of this,” she said, making eye contact with every person in the room, “I truly appreciate this show of support and all the organization that must have gone into this. I know it’s late, but I still need more information about what’s next.”

Harry glanced at Kings who saw the look and nodded his understanding.

“Avery is a problem,” said Kingsley, his deep voice laced with concern. 

“I agree,” said Aunt Cissa, her elegant hands folding in her lap, “the man is a bore and he was a pureblood supremacist, even after the Dark Lord fell. More importantly however, he is the most power hungry and ruthless man I have met in a long while.”

Lucius nodded in agreement. “He has nothing that even distantly resembles scruples. And his supporters aren’t any better. Thicknesse would sell his mother if that meant being half a step closer to the source of power. Most of the others though, Fudge, McNair, Chang, and others are more loyal to the galleon than they are to any set of ideals. So Avery must be funnelling money to them somehow. Avery’s pockets aren’t deep, but he somehow has managed to keep his faction funded and fed for almost a decade now”

“Where is the money coming from?” Hermione asked.

Nagnok cleared his throat softly, and Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the Goblin. Harry’s eyes also narrowed. Though Nagnok and the whole Goblin race had been helpful, he still didn’t like that they had held back information and Harry was unsure where exactly their loyalties lay.

“The Goblins are honour bound to keep the secrets of our clients.” Nagnok paused, as if he was weighing his next words very carefully. “However, I can say that he has multiple sources of income.”

Harry scowled, “he and his lot have been a headache for the DMLE as well. Sir Avery has been sniffing around, trying to protect the worst of the bunch that I am trying to kick out of the Aurors. I suspect that one of his sources of income may be the bribes that the corrupt Aurors collect.”

It was maddening that he still hadn’t been able to root out the corruption in his own department yet. The amount of pushback he had gotten from ‘prominent members of the community’ for trying to ensure the department actually functioned was suspicious. It was clear that the worst of the Aurors had friends in high places, Sir Avery among the most vocal.

Kingsley gave a slight bow in Hermione’s direction. “Your Majesty, if I might have leave to return to the Ministry, I think we will be able to put together some emergency measures to ensure that the Ministry is at least able to function on a temporary basis, until more is settled. The next pay period isn’t until the beginning of next month, so there is still some time.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course, thank you for your help Minister Shacklebolt.”

Kingsley bowed and stepped out of the room.

Hermione stayed silent until the snick of the front door echoed through the sitting room.

“Can I trust him?” She asked, still looking at the door he had exited out of.

The Malfoy’s exchanged a look, and Lucy inclined his head towards his wife in acknowledgement of whatever their silent conversation had told him.

“We believe so,” Lucius said. Hermione turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “He has no history of supporting the Dark Lord, and resisted offers of bribes consistently, from when he first took office to just a week ago. From what we know he got the job not because he wanted it, but because there were no other viable alternatives at the time. He is the least political politician I’ve met. Which is why he’s been a largely ineffectual Minister.”

“How would you know he refused bribes, Lucy? Did you offer him one?” Sirius’s tone was playful, but Harry recognized the glint of steel in his father’s gaze.

Lucius scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No you miserable cur, I didn’t. But you know very well that certain individuals still believe I’m one of them. They keep me apprised of the goings on.”

Sirius opened his mouth to say something back, that would have been biting and rude, but Hermione interrupted him.

“Sirius, can we trust Minister Shacklebolt?”

Harry’s father refocused on Hermione and ran a hand through his hair as he considered it.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Lucy. Kings was a spectacular Auror, but he was never very good at playing the game. No big bills have passed under his watch, and he’s barely fended off the wolves who have been trying to roll back the small morsels of progress the progressives have made.”

“He has unimpeachable integrity,” Albus offered, “but he has never been great at winning votes. He does an excellent job at the administrative parts of his office, but the political parts have been largely neglected. But I agree, trusting him is a fine choice.”

Nagnok took a step forward, calling attention to himself. “He is respected by the Goblin nation, but we know he has very little power himself.”

Hermione nodded, worrying her lip, obviously deep in thought. Harry kept silent. He agreed with everyone else. During his brief time as Head of the DMLE he had been able to count on Kingsley to back his plays, but the Minister had fallen down when trying to secure an increased budget for the Aurors.

“If he’s not good at politics,” she finally said after a moment of silence, “perhaps we could encourage him to take charge of whatever paperwork tornado is assuredly underway right now. He could handle whatever bureaucratic nightmare this becomes?”

Aunt Cissa inclined her head approvingly, and Harry’s eyebrows rose. Aunt Cissa was a hard woman to impress.

Draco pushed himself dramatically off of where he was slouching by the door. “I’ll go and lend him a hand, make sure he doesn’t accidentally shoot you in the foot. I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.” 

Hermione shot him a grateful smile, and he bowed in her direction before hurrying out of the room.

“Your Majesty,” said Nagnok, bowing. “I will also take my leave. I need to return to the Goblin Realm to check on the research progress. Draco also called for other human researchers who continue to look at the High King archives. I’ll call on you in the morning with news.”

Hermione nodded and the Goblin also left the house.

She turned towards the Malfoys and worried her lip briefly before nodding to herself, apparently coming to a decision.

“Lord and Lady Malfoy, I believe you could be of help if you could contact your—” Hermione hesitated and grimaced, but continued on “—less savoury contacts and see where their heads are. I know that there is already a faction that seems bent on delaying whatever this turns into. But I need to know if they have support, if so, how much, and what their pressure points are.”

“Of course Your Majesty, we are your humble servants.” Lucius bowed and Narcissa curtsied, and both swept out of the room.

Again, Hermione remained quiet until the noise of the front door closing reached the occupants of the sitting room.

“And can I trust them?” Hermione asked, her mouth twisting in a sardonic smile.

“As much as it pains me to say, yes.” Sirius said with a grin. “Lucy has saved my life more than once. And though he was once an absolute nightmare of a human, he has greatly reformed. And Cissa is the most devout follower of Magic I’ve ever met. She sees that Magic has selected you and would never work against that.”

“Though we have had our differences, it’s clear that he no longer holds the same views he had in his youth. He is comfortable with the position he has attained, and would not jeopardize that.” Dumbledore offered with a smile of his own, “and Lady Malfoy has never given me a reason to doubt her word.”

“Also,” Remus spoke up, “the Malfoys have their own brand of loyalty. They are loyal to family. And since Harry considers you family, and they consider Harry as their second son, you fall under that umbrella. They also crave power. And being in this room, allowing them to be present while you gave your first interview, gave them that. It is in their best interest to remain in your good graces. They won’t sacrifice that.” 

Hermione turned to look at Harry, his lips twitched down but he nodded in agreement. It had been so long since the Malfoys came into his life, that he hardly remembered a time without them now. It was slightly distressing to hear all their faults laid bare, but Hermione did need to know who she was dealing with, and she didn’t have the deep trust in them that he did.

“Okay,” Hermione rolled her shoulders. “I know there are other things I need to worry about. Headmaster, sometime tomorrow I’d like to go to Hogwarts and see the tower that opened up. I also want all the files in the Goblin Realm triple checked. I know the Goblins were magically compelled not to reveal the existence of the High King archive, but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

Albus nodded and bowed to Hermione, “Your Majesty, if that’s all, I need to ensure that Hogwarts is ready for your arrival tomorrow.”

She took a step towards him and grabbed one of his bony hands in both of hers, “Professor Dumbledore, I thought that I was as grateful as I could be when you wrote me a letter of recommendation that allowed me to study with Nicolas Flamel, but it seems that I continue to be in your debt.”

He smiled at her kindly, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles. “It is I who am grateful to you, Your Majesty. I thought I would die with Magic and the nation in stagnation and waste. I am grateful to have been wrong. Magic chose well when it selected you as High Queen. It is an honor to have taught you. And please, call me Albus.”

Hermione’s eyes became suspiciously bright and Harry watched her blink rapidly and swallow hard.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with tears, squeezing Albus’ hand gently.

He patted her shoulder with his free hand and then drew away and left.

Harry stepped close to Hermione, wrapping an arm around her hips and drawing her back against him. He had understood the necessity of her standing on her own instinctively. His father may have been irreverent and dismissive of all institutions, but he was still a Black and had ensured that Harry had learned about optics and politics from a young age. Harry had been encouraged to ignore and dismiss social norms, but he still had to know what they were. 

A young unknown, untested Queen needed to be able to stand on her own if she was to be taken seriously. Her being surrounded by the most powerful people in the country had helped with that, but if it looked like he was pulling the strings, she would look weak from the gate.

And she had looked powerful. Her interview with Skeeter had gone as well as he could have asked for, and she had already been clear about what needed to be done and had delegated well. She had done a spectacular job. He could not have been more proud of her.

But as she sunk back against him, he felt a slight tremble that seemed to overtake her body. She had gotten some sleep, but probably not enough considering the emotional and magical exhaustion that she had endured in the past 12 hours.

“Dad, Remus, Hermione needs more sleep. If you need anything send an elf.”

“Wait,” Hermione said, laying a hand on his forearm, “am I forgetting anything? Is there something that I missed?”

“No, Your Majesty, you did a great job,” Remus said, giving her a soft smile.

Hermione yawned wide and nodded. “Okay. If there is an emergency, if someone else becomes Queen or something, please let me know,”

Sirius snickered and held the door open for her.

Hermione allowed Harry to guide her back to the bedroom she had slept in earlier.

She sat on the edge of the bed, still in her finery and her shoulders slumped and she crumpled forward, her head falling to her hands.

“I don’t want this,” she said quietly, her hands tangled in her hair. “I don’t want to be in charge of anything. I want to research. I want to live a simple life. I don’t want to be Queen.”

Her voice sounded so small and lost and it made Harry’s heart twist. The tugging at his breast bone pulled especially hard and he sat next to her on the bed.

He said nothing, but dragged her on to his lap. She tucked her head against his shoulder and let him run a comforting hand down her side.

“I don’t want this. This is all happening so fast. And I can’t deny the things that have happened. And there is no other viable alternative right now. And I know that if I don’t do it then more things will fall apart, and all those people will be at risk, will suffer.”

She shuddered against him, and he held her closer, furious at the universe, and at Magic, for the first time in his life, for placing her in this position.

“How about,” Harry kept his voice soft, “we get you back into pyjamas, and then you get some more sleep, and we worry about this in the morning. One day at a time, love.”

Hermione yawned again, so wide her jaw cracked. “Okay, but I think tomorrow is going to be a lot too.”

Harry laughed hollowly, continuing to stoke down her side in a calming motion.

He didn’t say anything, but he agreed. This was just the start of something entirely new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always you can come [hit me up on my tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com) where my ask box is open
> 
> Comments are my love language!
> 
> I hope you and yours are staying safe and healthy!
> 
> -Ely


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my beta Ladyshjwblack
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who commented/kudos'd/bookmarked/subscribed/read. I appreciate each and every one of you!

**September 9, 2008**

Hermione woke up slowly, becoming aware of her surroundings bit by bit.

First, she heard obnoxiously loud birds, who seemed to have taken up the morning with more gusto than she could muster. Then she realized how comfortable and warm she was. She snuggled in deeper, beneath what she realized was a plush comforter. She turned her face and realized she was using Harry’s bare chest as a very comfortable pillow. He smelled delicious, and she breathed deeply, revelling in how close he was. His heavy arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her in place.

There was something warm and joyful that settled in her chest. It felt like the rush she had gotten when she had done magic for the first time.

“Good morning,” Harry’s voice was hoarse with sleep.

Hermione nuzzled in more to his chest, resistant to starting the day when she was so comfortable and safe in his arms. He pulled her in closer and pressed a kiss against the crown of her head.

“I don’t want to get up.” She mumbled, dropping a peck on his chest.

“I know,” he groaned and threw his free arm over his head to stretch, “me neither. But I don’t know how long Dad will let us have a lie in.”

Hermione sighed, a touch overdramatic and pushed herself up into a seated position.

“We have a full day. And as fond as I am of Sirius, I would rather he not seem me in this state of undress.”

“I think you look perfect.” Harry’s eyes ran up and down her body and his smirk was a touch predatory.

She raised an eyebrow at him, her own grin playing across her face.

“That’s just because the shirt you gave me to sleep in has your last name slapped across the back.”

His smirk turned to a smile as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “No comment.”

Hermione laughed and got out of his very comfortable bed. He stretched again, both hands reaching to the sky and highlighting a well-muscled chest that was built from hard work rather than from workouts. Her gaze was pure female appreciation, and when Harry opened his eyes to catch her watching, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, though his cheeks were pink.

A laugh spilled from Hermione’s lips and a wide grin split his face.

Harry made his way to the bathroom and Hermione again had the same realization she had the last time she had woken up in Harry’s room.

She had nothing to wear.

The loud pop that Winky made when she entered the room made Hermione jump. The elf curtsied low and clapped her little hands in excitement.

“Mistress Minnie, Lady Malfoy left clothes for you. She is saying that you can’t wear what you tried to call clothing anymore. She is arranging a designer and seamstresses to outfit you.” There was a wide smile on Winky’s face as she laid out the options that Lady Malfoy had left.

They were, of course, perfect.

Hermione selected an outfit for the day, which was again leagues nicer than anything she owned, and then did her best to imitate Lady Malfoy’s make-up magic. After she thought it looked as good as it was going to get she decided to leave her hair loose for the day.

Winky popped in and out as Hermione got ready. The elf brought her breakfast, and then her purse when she remembered she had left it at work after the dramatics of the day before.

Harry grabbed a piece of toast off of her plate and winked at her when she frowned at him.

“Do Sirius and Remus get the Prophet delivered? I need to see what Skeeter wrote.” She said.

“Yeah, Dobby?”

The house elf popped into the bedroom and bowed in Hermione’s direction.

“Is Master Harry and Mistress Minnie needing something?”

“Yes, can you get this morning’s issue of the Prophet please?”

The elf nodded and popped away, returning in less than a minute with a copy of the paper.

Harry shook out the front page and Hermione looked at it, only to meet her own gaze. The photo of her took up most of the front page. She looked quite good, if she could say so herself.

The photo must have been one of the first that the photographer had taken. The chair she was in did look like a throne, and everyone captured in the frame, Harry, Albus, Lord Malfoy and Sirius were all looking at her.

She looked in control and regal, but the wispy hair that escaped her crown braid made her look approachable and human. Harry loomed behind her, looking every inch the Duke he was, and the look on his face was something she could only describe as devotion.

If people didn’t know about their relationship before, this picture would certainly paint a clear picture.

Harry’s mouth twisted into a self-deprecating smile. “Well, I didn’t realize it would be so obvious.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and Hermione could only smile at him.

“I think it’s quite a wonderful picture, if I say so myself.” She stepped close to him and leaned against him until he put his arm around her shoulders. Going up on her toes she kissed his cheek.

She took the paper from him and read the article. It was definitely more flattering than the article from last night. It noted the prominent members of society who had rushed to support her. They had even used the positive, well neutral, statement from Professor Snape as a pull-out quote. Skeeter had still managed to get in a speculative paragraph about her romantic entanglements and even a picture from her time in Hogwarts. It actually wasn’t a picture of her, it looked like it was one that Parvati or Lavender had taken of the two of them, and it had caught her in the background.

Hermione wondered how much they had been paid for that one.

Folding the paper back up, she got dressed, Winky helping her tame her hair and apply makeup.

It wasn’t long before both Hermione and Harry were ready to head out the door. They met Draco in the entryway to 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Your Majesty,” Draco folded over into a bow, only hesitating momentarily. Hermione understood the hesitation. She was also still in shock that she was some sort of magical royalty.

“Draco, we’re going to Hogwarts first, and then I have a—a personal errand, and then we have tests to perform on the crown.” Hermione stated, rather than asked.

Harry laced his fingers through hers and she looked up into his face that was creased with a slight frown.

“A personal errand?”

She nodded. “I had Winky get me my purse which had my cell phone in it this morning. The hospital called and they’re transferring my mother to an assisted living facility and need me to sign some papers.”

“I’ll come with you, that is—” Harry paused, wincing slightly, “I mean, that is, if you don’t mind the company?”

Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand, appreciative that he was still trying to make sure she could have privacy if she wanted it. She figured she wouldn’t get much of that for the foreseeable future.

“Well, if you two lovebirds are done, Dumbledore is expecting us.” Draco said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

Harry elbowed him, and the trio walked out the door and apparated to in front of the gates of Hogwarts.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was waiting for them when they arrived, swinging the gate open to let them in.

Hermione couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across her face at the sight of her old Professor.

“Your Majesty,” Professor McGonagall swept into a graceful curtsey for a woman of her age.

“Please, Professor McGonagall, don’t—” Hermione disengaged from Harry and took a few quick steps so she could hug her old Head of House.

“Oh lass, look at you!” Professor McGonagall said, giving Hermione a quick squeeze, before holding her out so she could inspect her. “When I heard, oh my, Magic chose well. And call me Minerva, you haven't been one of my cubs for years.”

Hermione blushed, clearing her throat. She was not used to effusive praise from her reserved professor.

“Thank you so much Minerva. We’re here to see Prof—Albus?” said Hermione

“Of course, right this way. Mr. Malfoy, Your Grace, lovely to see you both again.” Minerva gave both men a warm smile.

The grounds were much as Hermione remembered. School had just started, and there were some children enjoying the weather before winter set in. The group got some curious looks, but luckily, they were mostly ignored. Maybe few had subscriptions to the Prophet.

They were met at the entrance to the castle by a scowling Severus Snape and a beaming Albus Dumbledore.

“Your Majesty,” Professor Snape, his face as if the words tasted sour on his tongue.

Hermione could only smile at him. Despite how cold Professor Snape could be, Hermione had always enjoyed his class. It had been hard at first, given his distaste for Gryffindors and his complete lack of patience for her over-eager hand waving. But after a few years he had proven to be challenging and always willing to give her more work when she asked for it.

He had even written her a letter of recommendation for her mastery program.

“Professor Snape! It’s so lovely to see you again. Please call me Hermione.” She offered her hand to him and to her surprise he bowed over it, though she did detect a hint of mocking in the tilt of his eyebrows as he regarded her over her hand.

“If you insist...Hermione.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to stop them from twitching in amusement. It didn’t escape her that he didn’t give her leave to call him Severus. She wasn’t sure how much emotion a queen was allowed to display. If she went by the current British Monarch, the answer would be not much at all.

“Albus,” she turned slightly to greet the older wizard warmly. “It’s good to see you again. Thank you so much for letting us know about the tower that opened up.”

“I’m off to research in the library. Let me know if you find anything of interest.” Draco said with a wave, walking towards the library.

“Hermione, it’s good to see you again.” Said Dumbledore with a kind smile.

“Albus, thank you again for your help yesterday. I really appreciate it.” Hermione returned the smile.

“Of course, now if you’ll follow me, the tower is right this way.”

She trailed behind her former headmaster and former professor, letting Harry lead the conversation, instead looking around the entry hall with interest. Nothing had changed. It was just as she remembered the last time she had seen it, ten years prior. The portraits peered down at her with unabashed interest. Apparently, they were as big as gossips as ever.

The walk to the tower was surprisingly short, and they were there in no time. It was an area of the castle she hadn’t been to before, off of the third-floor corridor and down a hallway she didn’t think she had ever been down.

As they approached, magic pressed against her senses. It was like a build up of static electricity she felt under her skin. It reminded her a little of the jolt she had felt from the Crown, but not quite the same.

Harry, Professor Snape and Dumbledore all had stopped a few feet back. She looked behind her, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“The boundary seems to be this arch,” Albus said, gesturing to a stone peaked arch that Hermione was standing under. She leaned back to regard the stones with interest. There seemed to be runes carved on the arch, some of them familiar from the hours she had spent pouring over the cube and the pyramid. 

“And none of you can cross the boundary?”

“No, we can’t even get close.” Albus put his palm up to the invisible boundary and pushed. His hand snapped back and he winced, as if it had shocked him.

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. There had to be a way to lower the wards. She could proceed without back up, but Harry already looked a little anxious, his arms crossed tightly over his chest in a way that made his shirt stretch over his biceps in a very distracting way. She blinked hard to try to refocus. Bringing down the wards. Okay, well if history was precedent, she would bet that it would involve her blood.

She took a step further into the tower to examine the stones just on the inside of the entryway, looking for an obvious way to allow Harry and the professors through. After a second, she spotted it. There was a stone that was slightly recessed and a much lighter color. Taking her wand out, she cast a few detection charms that let her know that her instincts were correct, that it did have the same sorts of spells that meant that it served as a method of lowering the wards.

Using her wand, she made a shallow cut with her wand on the palm of her hand and let blood pool in her cupped hand. She then carefully pressed her hand against the stone. There was a slight wave of magic that resonated through her, making her blood hum in a way that was a weak echo of how she felt after the crown had been revealed.

“I think that should do it,” Hermione cleaned the blood off of her hand and the stone. Harry stepped through first and took her hand, cradling it in his. He repeated the healing spell he had used to heal her and did so again, the cut on her palm closing painlessly.

“I’d really appreciate it if you stopped needing that spell,” Harry’s mouth quirked in a smile that was just the littlest bit pained.

Hermione patted her recently-healed hand on his cheek gently. “I didn’t plan it,” her tone was wry and her smile in return was soft.

Albus and Professor Snape stepped through the arch a little more warily than Harry had.

Hermione led the group down a short hallway. Around a blind corner was a stairway. Hermione was determined to treat this tower as she would a magical artifact. She carefully cast a series of detection charms that would let her know if she was about to step into a trap, but they turned up nothing. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and by the time they reached the top of the tower Hermione thought that they must be as higher than she had ever been in the castle, even higher than the Divination classroom.

After what felt like forever there was a door at the top. Hermione managed another series of detection spells, and again found nothing suspicious, other than a very strong stasis charm.

“I think we’re at the top,” she said, embarrassingly out of breath and panting. She turned slightly and was gratified to see that at least Professor Snape was breathing heavily, though Albus and Harry looked like they had just done a leisurely walk in the park instead of many, many steps.

She left the stasis spell in case there was something delicate behind the door and reached for the handle. As her fingertips brushed against the handle the door swung inward, revealing a round room that was larger than she thought it could be. She took a few steps in, enough to allow everyone else in the room.

Half of the room held built-in shelves that were stuffed with scrolls, books, and loose papers. The rest of the walls had large windows that looked out onto the Quidditch pitch and Black Lake. But what really stole the show was a large round table that took up most of the center of the room.

“Well this is a little on the nose,” Hermione muttered under her breath. There was a sound from behind her that sounded like a snort, she glanced behind her and saw Professor Snape schooling his face back into a serious expression.

“Am I to assume,” she said, more loudly this time, “that this is the round table of lore?”

“That’s very possible,” Dumbledore stepped closer to the table, peering at the large table. It was a glorious thing, the legs intricately carved and the wood looked like it was freshly polished.

“We’ll need Draco in here to start going through the papers,” Harry said, regarding the wall of paper through narrowed eyes. “I’ll get him.”

He drew his wand, and in an impressive display of magic, produced a patronus silently. It was a stag, fully corporeal and very large. He gave it a summons for Draco and sent it on its way.

Within a few minutes, Draco was in the room, panting. His normally perfect hair was out of place and there was even sweat beading on his forehead.

“Merlin,” Draco breathed out, stopping in the doorway to look at the room of documents. “I’ll need at least four researchers to get through this in a timely fashion.”

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I know that some Professors would be eager to help, as would Madam Pince.

Malfoy didn’t disguise his wince, but still nodded in agreement.

There was something about the wall of documents that was bothering her though. It felt like it was pulling her, in the now very familiar way that so many things seemed to nowadays.

She took a few steps towards the wall of documents before she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She knew it was Harry’s without looking. Sometime in the past few months, few weeks really, his touch had become so familiar she thought she would always know what his skin felt like against hers.

“Is it safe?” He kept his voice low to ensure it wouldn't travel.

“Yes, there’s just a very strong stasis spell on it. But there’s something that I think I need to see there. It’s—” she sighed, trying to think of how to explain it, “—it’s like a much tamer version of what the True Crown felt like.”

Harry gave her wrist a gentle but reassuring squeeze and let it go.

She took several steps closer before she spotted it. There, on the bottom shelf was sword. There was a large stone that appeared to be a ruby on the end of the pommel/hilt, and the silver shined as if it were brand new. There were runes etched into the blade, some of which she recognized, other of which were entirely unfamiliar.

“Oh,” Albus had followed Hermione and his eyes were caught on the same object. “That appears to be the Sword of Gryffindor.”

Hermione reached out with a tentative hand towards the blade. “Gryffindor had a sword?”

“Yes, legend says that it was lost, and that a true Gryffindor could retrieve it in their time of need. But most thought it was just misplaced centuries ago or stolen.”

Her hand was a few inches away from the hilt when the sword practically jumped into her hand. It was heavier than she though it would be and she almost dropped it.

“Is this going to be one of those things that only I can touch?” Her voice was slightly exasperated. If she had to carry around this sword for the rest of the day, she would be annoyed.

“Well, let’s experiment!” Albus sounded much too excited at the prospect. He was the first to reach out to the sword, and just like the crown, it rejected his touch. Professor Snape and Draco tried in short order to the same result. Harry then reached out, she was expecting his hand to skate across the surface, just as the other men’s had, but to her shock, he wrapped his long fingers sound the hilt with no problem at all.

“Huh,” Hermione tilted her head and watched him hilt the weight of the sword. “Do you know how to use it?” She asked

“Some. Dad made me take lessons, but it’s been years now.” Harry said, eye glued to the blade in his hand.

“Well, it looks like it likes you, so I’m going to leave you to deal with that.” Hermione said, nodding to herself and returning her attention to the wall of papers.

After about an hour she decided that whoever had previously organized these documents was a sadist. There seemed to be no discernible logic to where different things were. One book held what appeared to be financial reports, but the scroll on top of it was potions research. Luckily all the men were helping her, and Draco had called for Penelope to help as well.

Sorting the documents into piles took hours, and by the time Hermione looked up from reading a fairly interesting treaty on the use of loyalty spells during wartime, it was almost time for her to be at the hospital.

“Harry,” she said, setting down her parchment and standing. Her back ached from the long period of inactivity so she stretched slightly, hoping to work out the kinks. Harry’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, applying just the right amount of pressure. She bit her lip to avoid a very inappropriate noise from escaping and tilted her head back to give him a grateful smile.

“It’s time to go,” he said, “I think I’ll leave the sword here for now.”

“Why don’t we take the most interesting and relevant documents to the research room that I’ve set up?” Suggested Albus, standing as well.

Hermione nodded, and everyone packed up, Harry deciding to leave the sword in the tower. It was best to lock up the tower, who knew what precious or dangerous documents were inside. Plus the last thing anyone wanted was students wandering in.

Locking up the tower involved the same process as un-warding the tower had, which made Harry scowl at her as he healed her hand yet again. The smile she gave him in return was slightly chagrined and he brushed a kiss on the crown of her head in response.

“I have a personal errand to run and then I’ll be back at the Ministry after this,” said Hermione, addressing the people who had been researching in the tower. She and Harry said their goodbyes and left the castle.

On the walk down she felt tension that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding leave her body and her shoulder relaxed.

“You okay?” Harry asked, reaching for her hand. She let him take it and laced their fingers together.

“Yeah. I just—I hadn’t been back there since I graduated.”

“Did you miss it?”

“Not really. It wasn’t a very fun place for me. I didn’t have a lot of friends.”

“Why, you’re wonderful,”

Hermione laughed at the confused sincerity in Harry’s voice.

“When I first started, I was a bit of a swot. Very over-eager. Too much for a lot of people. I was bullied. There were some unkind people. In fairness, I didn’t do much to endear myself to anyone, but still.”

“I know, Draco, you said.”

“Yeah, but the girls tended to be worse. My roommates, some older girls too.”

Harry rubbed his thumb across her knuckles encouragingly. “How so?”

“There was an older girl who got a boy to pretend to like me and ask me out. I said yes. And then a few weeks later he told me in front of the whole Great Hall at dinner that it had been for a joke. That was deeply unpleasant.”

“I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”

Hermione shrugged, the memory still stung a little, but time and perspective had dulled almost all of the pain from the memory.

“But going back there, it just made me remember how miserable I was, but also that I weirdly missed it? I learned so much there, and even though there were some unkind people, I did love it.”

Harry brought their intertwined hands up to his mouth and he pressed a kiss into the back of her hand. The warmth of it spread up her arm and sent a shiver down her spine.

They reached the boundary of the anti-apparition wards of the castle and they left.

* * *

Harry brought them to the hospital, apparating in a nearby phone booth. It was a little crowded, but they got out immediately.

Hermione kept a hold of him as they walked into the hospital. She stopped to speak with the receptionist, who gave them her mother’s room number and paged the doctor to meet them up there.

“So,” Hermione started as they stepped into the lift, “I should warn you. My mother isn’t well.”

“I know love, she’s here.”

“No, well, yes, but I mean she’s not mentally well. She really, well, after my father died, she couldn’t take care of herself, couldn’t live with herself. She took it out on me. It made things...unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine. But it is what it is. I just wanted to warn you, that she might say some things. But she’s not well. So if she says things to you, don’t take it personally.”

Harry pulled her closer into him, so her back was leaning against his front, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her in place.

“I’m just here to support you, don’t worry about me.”

Hermione turned slightly in his arm and kissed the edge of his jaw. It made a warm feeling spread from where she had kissed out through the rest of his body.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but Harry could hear the gratitude lacing both syllables.

The lift reached the correct floor and they stepped off, making their way to the room the receptionist had said.

Joyce, her mother, was awake and in her room. Hermione was more tense than he had remembered seeing her before, even when she was about to try to open the box. She was practically vibrating with it. He rested one hand on her lower back, standing slightly behind her, but unlike other times when he put his hands on her, she didn’t relax into him, but stayed rigid.

“Hermione. You’re here to take me back home.” The woman who spoke from the bed was slight, and obviously undernourished. Her face had hints of Hermione’s though, around the mouth and eyes. Her speech was slightly slurred, but still comprehensible.

“No mum, I’m here to sign some papers because the doctors think that you need further care in a rehab facility.” Hermione’s voice was conciliatory, but it didn’t stop the angry glare her mother gave her.

“That’s nonsense.” Joyce shook her head, “I just need to go back home.”

“No mum, being at home was no good for you. You didn’t eat, you didn’t go out, you didn’t take your medicine. All you did was chain-smoke and sleep. The doctors have said that they can help you establish new routines, get you on medications that work. You still need to recover from your ministroke.” Hermione spoke slowly and clearly; Harry didn’t think that Joyce was listening though, her mouth had twisted to something angry and unpleasant.

Harry, with years of Auror experience, turned slightly, and out of the corner of his eye he watched as a Doctor in a white coat approached the door, which was mostly opened. The doctor, an older woman, knocked on the doorframe to announce his presence.

“Miss Granger? Mrs. Granger, it’s good to see that you’re awake.”

Hermione pivoted, offering the doctor her hand. “Dr. Jenson, it’s good to see you again, thank you for all your hard work.”

“Miss Granger, thank you for coming in again, you’ve been here almost every day, and even though you work full time. The staff has noticed.”

“You came by?” Joyce’s eyes narrowed and she regarded her daughter with something that looked like suspicion to Harry.

“Yes mum, almost every day,” Hermione didn’t look at her mother, but was focusing on the doctor. “Dr. Jenson, you said you needed me to sign some forms?”

“Yes, they’re the transfer release forms for the rehabilitation facility.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one signing those?” Joyce sat up straighter in bed, reaching a hand out for the clipboard in Dr. Jenson’s hands

“No Mrs. Granger, you’re still not considered competent because of your ministroke and your previous incapacitation.”

“I wasn’t incapacitated.” Joyce’s tone was mulish, and she jutted her chin out in a way that made Harry think of Hermione.

“Your daughter reports that prior to your illness, you hadn’t left the house in months, you were unable to care for yourself, and were essentially bed bound. She also reports that you nearly caused fires on a number of occasions when you forgot about cigarettes and left them burning.”

“My daughter is a liar.”

Hermione’s hand tangled in her hair and Harry edged slightly closer to her, hoping his nearness could provide her with some level of comfort.

“Mum, the nursing service also provided detailed records. I’m not lying, and you know it.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting them put me in a home, your own mother.” Joyce’s voice was shrill and her eyes were overbright.

“Please mum, don’t make this difficult. You can’t care for yourself and I can’t care for you. The people at the rehabilitation center will be able to help. You’re ill and I—”

“Your father would disown you for this, how dare you put me out of the house I paid for.”

Hermione flinched, rocking back on her heels slightly.

“You didn’t pay for it! I’ve worked full time, more than full time for years, I—”

Joyce turned to the doctor. “I don’t want to see her.”

“What, mum—” Hermione looked distressed and Harry longed to whisk her out of this obviously painful situation, but he restrained himself.

“I don’t want her in my room. I don’t want her here.”

Hermione sighted deeply, her shoulders drooping. “Fine. Dr. Jenson, I’m sorry about this. I’ll sign the necessary paperwork in the hallway.”

Hermione turned away from her mother and skirted around Harry, not making eye contact with him. The doctor followed her out of the room.

Harry lingered for a second. Joyce looked very unwell, and as her daughter stepped out of the room and out of sight, the harsh, scowling expression on her face seemed to crumble. It only lasted a second though, as she seemed to realize that Harry hadn’t left the room.

“You can go too,” she said, pointing a bony finger towards the door, “just let me die in peace.”

“Hermione is precious, and she deserves more than your cruelty.” He spoke softly, but Joyce flinched as if he had hit her.

“You don’t know what my daughter deserves,” she ground out through gritted teeth. She didn’t look angry though, she looked like she was in pain.

Harry was pretty sure he had already overstepped, so decided to do it just a little more. “Your daughter is amazing, Hermione is everything. She’s brilliant, kind, and just. You’ve hurt her deeply.”

Joyce’s eyes shut, and she turned her head away from Harry. “I don’t know who you are, but don’t think I don’t know my daughter. I know her better than anyone. She’s already ruined her life, and is now just prolonging my pain and hers. Leave me alone.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Shaking his head, he stepped out into the hallway as Hermione handed the forms back to the doctor.

“Thank you for all your help, Dr. Jenson.” Hermione shook hands with the doctor and turned back to Harry.

“I’m sorry you had to see all that,” she said, a blush climbing up her chest.

Harry took the couple of steps necessary until he could reach her and pull her into a warm hug.

“Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault. Your mum’s very ill. You’ve done everything you can, none of this is on you.”

He felt her shaking against him, and he tightened his grasp around her. They stood like that for a minute before he felt her pulling back. He let her go and brought his hand up to tilt her chin up to look at her face. She was still slightly red, but the soft smile she gave him was much less brittle and she seemed calmer.

“Okay,” Hermione took a full but uneven breath in, “to the Ministry?”

“Do you need time? We could go back to Grimmauld Place?” His brow creased in a frown, using his hand on her chin to tilt her face this way and that, examining her for signs of distress.

“No, I need to finish this day and then get home.” Her voice was determined, and he nodded, letting her face go and taking a step back.

“All right,” he offered her his arm with a bow, “then shall we?”

Hermione nodded, taking his arm with a grateful smile, and they made their way out of the hospital.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I look pretty good for a dead bitch (she's alive!). I did camp Nano in July, and it was a whole struggle caravan, but I haven't forgotten this fic, and fully intend on completing it.
> 
> (The fic I wrote for camp nano is Draco/Hermione and will start posting sometime this month or next)
> 
> As always you can come hit me up on [my tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com) where my ask box is open
> 
> Comments are my love language!
> 
> I hope you and yours are staying safe and healthy!
> 
> -Ely


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, it's just smut.
> 
> Thank you to my beta Ladyshjwblack.

**September 9, 2008**

When they got to the Ministry it was in chaos. They had come through the private entrance for the head of the DMLE, going right to his office. But the bullpen was in a tizzy, and Harry’s desk was even more covered than usual in paper.

“Shit,” he ran a hand over his face, clearly exasperated, “I should have known that this would be a headache.”

“Well, we’ll just have to get to work then,” Hermione said, keeping her tone matter of fact. “You obviously have work to do here, I need to get down to the workroom to talk to the team and see what progress has been made.

Harry nodded, and as she pulled away, he reluctantly let her go. As her fingertips were about to slip from his hand, he pulled her back in, bringing his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

“In case we can’t get any privacy until later,” he whispered, his words hot against her skin. A full body shiver ran through her and a wide grin stole across her face. She wrapped both arms around his neck and brought him close again, kissing him deeply, her tongue playing with his.

When she pulled away, they were both breathless and smiling.

“Am I staying with you again tonight?” She asked, smoothing her hands over her outfit, trying to assure that there were no obvious wrinkles in the lovely garment Narcissa had chosen for her.

“I’d like that. We can’t properly ward your flat. Dad and Remus would love to play hosts to you again, if that’s okay with you?”

Hermione nodded. It was practical, and besides, she felt safe staying there with all of this unrest. “As long as you’re there too.”

A charming blush warmed Harry’s cheeks and he gave her a playful grin. “Of course.” 

“Okay, then I’m off,” she again turned towards the door, but Harry still had a hold of her hand.

“One second, I’m going to get an Auror to walk you down there.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but the serious look on Harry’s face stopped her. Instead, she nodded. Harry tapped his wand twice on the table and a minute later there was a knock on his door. Harry told the person to enter, and Ron Weasley swung the door open, a bored look on his face.

“You’re the Auror on duty?” Harry asked. Hermione could detect something tight around his eyes, and tried to remember if Harry had talked to her about Ron.

“Yeah, what do you need...sir?” There was an unpleasant edge to Ron’s voice and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Her Majesty needs to be accompanied to the research workroom.” Harry still wasn’t smiling, and she couldn’t help but look between the two men.

“Alright,” Ron said and turned toward Hermione.

“Thank you,” she did her best to smile sincerely and Ron, and gave Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see you later,” she told Harry, and walked out the door, feeling Harry’s eyes follow her path out.

She and Ron walked in silence through the bullpen to the lifts. The lift wasn’t empty when it arrived, instead, Ginny Weasley was there.

This obviously surprised Ron, as he stopped short, right in front of Hermione, making her run into his back.

“Gin? What are you doing here?”

“Meeting with Magical Games and Sports about the current Quidditch season, given the…” she trailed off as Hermione detangled herself from Ron, brushing down the front of her skirts.

“Oh, um, er, nice to see you, your majesty.” Ginny’s voice came out stilted and awkward and with a flash Hermione realized that this might be the tone of a lot of her interactions in the near future with people who had once ignored her.

She forced a bland smile on her face. “Nice to see you again, your brother was just escorting me back to my workroom.”

Ginny’s eyes bounced between Ron and Hermione, her lips pressing together slightly as she took a step further back into the lift to allow Ron and Hermione to board. 

The silence was awkward, and Hermione could feel Ginny's gaze on the back of her neck. It didn’t feel unfriendly, but it felt curious. It reminded her of how other girls had looked at her after Viktor Krum had asked her to the Yule Ball and she had declined. Assessing, bewildered, and just a touch skeptical.

“So,” Ginny finally said after the silence had stretched thin and Hermione was just barely refraining from fidgeting due to the awkwardness. “Ron, is footman a promotion or a demotion?” The teasing smile on the other woman’s face made something ease in Hermione’s chest. 

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Shut up Gin.”

Hermione bit back a smile of her own, which Ginny surely saw, because her grin grew in response. 

The lift reached the floor for Magical Games and Sports and Ginny stepped off the lift. Before fully exiting, she turned around to look at Hermione. 

“I just—Your Majesty—“ she broke off and gave her head a brief shake. “Congratulations Your Majesty, you and His Grace looked—congratulations” she said, and then bit down on her lip and made her way swiftly out of the lift. 

Hermione looked to Ron, who didn’t look at her, but kept his face towards his sister’s retreating back, a puzzled frown on his face.

The rest of the trek to the workroom was made in silence, and Ron left her at the door, turning swiftly on his heel, retreating back down the hall before she had the opportunity to thank him.

* * *

As soon as Harry got the notification that Hermione was back in her workroom, he let his shoulders relax, but only slightly.

He was signing his name on various requisition forms when Sirius knocked on the doorframe, waltzing in and not waiting for an answer.

“When one knocks, they’re normally supposed to wait for an invitation inside,” Harry said, a wry smile on his face.

“Those are niceties not meant for fathers,” Sirius said, waving the comment away with a flourish of his hand.

“How can I help you, Lord Black?” Harry asked, steepling his hands in front of him.

Sirius threw himself into the only empty chair, slumping artfully once he was seated. “Oh, don’t be so formal, pup. I’m just here to make sure your lady love is properly protected.”

“I don’t think it’s proper to refer to the Queen as my lady love.” Harry raised a single eyebrow at his father, a technique the older man had taught Harry himself.

“Nonsense. If I can’t be informal with the High Queen, then being your dad has no perks.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What do you actually want?”

Sirius straightened, a serious expression crossing his face. “Sir Avery has demanded a meeting.”

Harry instantly tensed. “With who? Through who?”

“With Her Majesty, through Lucy.”

Something cold pricked at Harry’s insides. He didn’t like this. Sure, he trusted Lucius, but for Sir Avery to feel so confident to  _ demand _ a meeting with the woman who Magic had anointed as queen, so soon after she had been discovered made him uneasy.

“Why?” Drumming his fingers on the table top, Harry resisted the urge to just go seek out Sir Avery and deal with the asshole himself.

Sirius frowned, his eyes on Harry’s face. “He says he wishes to discuss his demands to release his hold on the votes to ensure that they can vote through the most basic laws that allow the Ministry to continue to operate.”

Harry said nothing, letting the silence linger for a second. 

“You know, you can’t just go and kill him.” Sirius said in a conversational tone.

Harry scowled. “I know that Dad.”

“Just checking. The look on your face just now told me you want to though.”

A full body sigh escaped Harry’s lips and he ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t like how precarious her position is. She needs to undergo whatever coronation ritual is required, and we need to make sure she has a firm base of power and doesn’t have these fucking Death Eater wannabes trying to undermine her at every turn.”

Harry’s hands fell to the desk. He just felt so helpless. At every turn there seemed to be more uncertainty, and he desperately wished he could just whisk Hermione away from here and out of danger. He would have suggested if, if he weren’t sure that she would reject the option out of hand. She had a sense of responsibility and curiosity that he admired. She would never turn away, not when she thought she could help and not when she thought she could learn more.

Sirius reached across the table to rest a hand on Harry’s in a reassuring gesture.

“We’ll get her there. This isn’t on you alone. That Skeeter article has already helped her gain quite a bit of public support, especially among the halfblood and Muggleborn communities.”

“I know.” A reluctant smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Her mail has been routed to the DMLE and is being checked for curses and poisons. I just read the report, of the four hundred or so letters that have already been processed, all were very positive.”

Sirius drew back his hand and reclined once more in his seat. “Maybe we could get rid of Avery if you could finally connect him to the corruption in the Auror department.”

“Maybe.” Harry frowned. “It’s hard. He works through shell companies that own shell companies that own shell companies, so connecting him to bribes and blackmail has proven difficult. We need him to make another move in order to ensure we have enough evidence.”

Harry certainly had some circumstantial evidence, but nothing that would hold up against a peer with as much power as Sir Avery had. He needed a smoking gun.

“That’s inconvenient.” Sirius said, tapping his index finger on the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.

“I’m aware.” Harry resisted rolling his eyes, but only just barely.

There was silence as Harry contemplated different ways he might get dirt on Avery, but his machinations came to a halt as a sly smile crept across Sirius’s face.

“What?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Is she staying with us again tonight?” Sirius asked, coking his head, an attempt at an innocent expression on his face. Harry recognized that expression though. Nothing good came from that expression.

“Yes.” Harry drew the word out, his eyes still narrowed. “Her apartment can’t be warded easily, and I’ve had people come over to my place who I don’t trust with her.”

“Good, if Grimmauld is where she is safest, we’re happy to have her.”

“Thank you.” Harry was still frowning, uncertain of—

“Just remember to silence your room.” Sirius said, laughter in his voice.

“Dad!” Harry felt the blush start on his neck, burning its way up his face, surely turning his cheeks very red.

“Well, there was that one time—” The teasing lilt in Sirius’s voice was obvious.

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. “Dad! I was 19! You and Remus were supposed to be out of town!”

“I’m just saying.” Sirius barely got the words out through his laughter.

“Leave, just, get out.” Harry dropped his head to his desk with a thump.

The chair Sirius was in scraped back as Sirius stood. “Fine! Just so you know, Remus and I have a meeting with our factions tonight, we’ll be back late.”

“Okay, fine, goodbye.” Harry said, his voice muffled slightly by the papers on his desk

“But that still doesn’t mean you shouldn’t silence—”

Harry jabbed a finger at his door. “Leave!”

Sirius’s laughter could be heard all through the bullpen.

* * *

Hermione was exhausted. 

When she had opened the door to her workroom she had been greeted by more people than she had ever seen in the room, and seemingly more had come in every few minutes.

At least most of them had been useful, even if they were startlingly obsequious. That was weird trying to get used to. 

Draco had brought a familiar face and welcome word that Avalon had been easy to find, appearing on a map he had found in the unlocked Hogwarts tower. So at least that was one less thing on her plate. The downside was that it was on an island off of the coast of Scotland that was inaccessible via apparition, and so strongly warded that Penelope, who had tried to visit, had been rebuffed and denied entry.

However, what was more concerning was the political strife that her ascension to the throne had caused. Not that there was a throne yet. But still.

It was approximately four hours after she had left Harry’s office, countless documents reviewed, Lord and Lady Malfoy coming by, Sirius dipping in and out, Minister Shacklebolt spending a few hours at her side, and meeting more members of the Wizengamot than she had before in her entire life, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for several years.

The Malfoys had asked if they could have the honor of hosting her Coronation Ball. Hermione could tell though that asking her permission was really more of a social courtesy, because the looks on their faces made it clear she couldn’t say no. So instead, she had nodded and thanked them for thinking of it

The only saving grace had been Quince, who had hovered comfortingly nearby, offering his own insights, which, to be honest she trusted more than those of her human advisors.

The representative from the Goblins—not Nagnok, since he was still tied up in the High King archives in the Goblin Kingdom—gave her a courteous bow, and as he left, he held the door open, allowing Harry to step inside.

Hermione had to physically hold herself back from throwing herself at him, satisfying herself by allowing a warm wide smile to come across her face. Being reserved and queenly, whatever that meant, took it out of her. There was only so long she could channel Narcissa Malfoy.

“I’m here to collect Her Majesty,” Harry said, bowing towards her, a smile matching her own gracing his face.

Hermione didn’t wait for permission, instead she stood, making everyone else who was seated in the room scramble to also stand. She barely concealed a wince. She really needed lessons or something.

“Please, if you have business here, feel free to stay. I’ll be back in the morning.” She gave the room what she hoped was a gracious nod, and allowed Harry to take her arm and lead her out of the room.

They reached the lift in silence. Once inside they were blissfully alone, but Hermione still cast a silencing charm. Which for some strange reason seemed to make Harry blush slightly.

She gave him a quizzical look, but he shook his head slightly, so she refrained from asking.

“Did I just fuck that up?” She asked quietly, taking a step closer to Harry. She was near enough to feel the comforting heat from his body.

“You did fine,” he murmured, gathering her close. His touch made her feel safe, but hyper-aware of all the places they touched, his hand on her back, the other on the back of her neck, his chest pressed to hers. She allowed herself to melt into him, revelling in their closeness.

She nuzzled into his chest, inhaling his scent more.

“Just take me home,” she said.

He squeezed her closer to him and began to use his hand on her back to stroke up and down the length of her spine. “Okay. You’re staying at Grimmauld again.”

Hermione shut her eyes tightly. She had hoped she could go back home, and maybe, possibly, just spend one night pretending that her entire life hadn’t been smashed to itty-bitty pieces and reassembled into something she didn’t recognize at all in the course of one day. She tried to press down that feeling, the one that made her want to print away from this situation and bury her head in the sand, but it still pressed against the back of her throat, choking off her words. So instead she nodded, and pulled away from Harry slightly.

Keeping a hand on her lower back, he led her out of the lift and to the apparition point. She was proud that she was able to keep her head held high and her shoulders squared, despite the feeling that her chest was caving in on itself.

* * *

Harry could tell that there was something wrong with Hermione as he did his best to get them to the apparition point quickly and with as little fuss or attention as possible. She was doing an excellent job keeping a brave face on, but there was a pang in his chest and somehow, he just  _ knew _ . Chalk another one up to their soul bond. It really was a shame there was no definitive text on it, something that could have prepared him for this hollow, desperate feeling that her distress caused him.

They arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place with a near inaudible pop, and Harry immediately swept Hermione up into his arms. She resisted at first, pushing away, and squirming a little. He would have let her go had her hands not been desperately pulling him closer at the same time. It was like there was an internal battle, whether she wanted him closer or farther away, but either way, Harry did his best to let her decide what she wanted.

She let out a noise of distress, something high and keening from the back of her throat that made his decision for him. He picked her up and carried her to his room. She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting herself be held.

Gently placing her on his bed, she flopped down, tears at the corners of her eyes. His first priority was making her comfortable. He wasn’t sure what had upset her, but he didn’t want to press her further. He could only imagine what she must be going through, being thrown into the deepest end of the peerage with no preparation and no notice, going from a complete unknown to being made the most important person in wizarding Britain in the blink of an eye. As far as he was concerned, her distress was merited.

He stayed standing, but leaned down to take off her shoes, using a flick of his wand to ensure they went to his closet. He ran his knuckles down her instep and tension bled out of her. He did the same thing on the other foot and she sighed. He looked up, trying to make sure it hadn’t been a sight of distress, but she had thrown an arm over her eyes. 

“Can I get you out of this uncomfortable clothing?” He kept his voice low, aiming for soothing.

She didn’t respond. Instead she threw her arm off of her face and regarded him through eyes that were rimmed red. His heart clenched, but he kept pity out of his expression. She didn’t need that, and besides, he didn’t pity her, he just was upset that she was upset.

“This is silly,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse.

“I’m sure you’ve had an overwhelming day,” his hand wrapped around her ankles like shackles. She pushed further into his grasp.

Flapping her hand as if to dismiss his sympathy, Hermione sighed.

“It’s just that—I just hate being bad at things. And I have this terrible feeling that I’m an awful Queen, even if only a temporary one, and there are a limited number of things I can do to become a better Queen, seeing as there hasn’t been one in hundreds of years, and everyone seems to have all these expectations of me, and I don’t know how to meet them, and it feels like everyone knows more than me, and that things are being kept from me, and—”

Harry cut her off, as she had rambled, her voice had gotten higher and closer to tears. He squeezed her ankles, and she stopped talking immediately. 

“Take a deep breath,” he pitched his voice low and commanding, like he sometimes had needed to back in the States with new Auror recruits who started to spiral.

She locked eyes with him, and breathed in and out, following the pattern of his breath.

“Good girl,” he said, stroking his thumb in circles over the indent behind the delicate bone of her ankle. He felt her full body shiver at his actions, and another idea bubbled up. Perhaps she needed to be distracted. He knew how to provide distraction.

* * *

Hermione’s heart picked up its pace. There was something dangerous glittering in his eyes, and she wasn’t sure if it made her nervous or excited. Both, probably, if she was being honest with herself.

“So,” he inched his hands up her shins slowly, his touch leaving fire in its wake, “I’d like to capture your attention for a while, take your mind off of your stressful day.”

“Oh?” Her voice came out much breathier than she wanted.

“Yes.” His hands were now under the skirt of her outfit, brushing past her knees. She spread her legs to allow him better access. As she shifted, the gusset of her knickers brushed up against her core. She was so wet already. The thought made her pussy throb.

“How are you going to distract me?” He was leaning over her now, his eyes intent on hers, practically pinning her in place.

“Well,” his tone was conversational and matter of fact, “I was planning on eating you out until your whole body shakes and then making you fall apart on my cock over and over again until you don’t even remember you’ve ever left this bed. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great.”

His hands played with the elastic at the edge of her knickers, the tips of his fingers first smoothing over the material and then dipping under playfully. 

She pushed her legs further apart, asking without words for more.

His grin was playful, but there was an edge to it.

“You have to ask though.”

Her eyes went wide. “Ask?”

“Beg.” His knuckles rand firmly down the seam of her pussy, pressing just hard enough to provide a tease of the friction she desperately desired.

Her face must have been red. She was no virgin, but her previous lovers hadn’t been so intense, so demanding. They had been relatively boring short-term things, where she would have to get herself off after they had finished.

Hermione had the feeling that she would not need to do that this time.

“I’m not going to beg.”

Harry’s grin spread.

“Yes, you are. And you’ll look so pretty doing it.” He yanked hard on her knickers, and the elastic cut into her skin briefly before giving way and breaking. They tore with a dramatic sound. Well, at least they hadn’t been a pair she was overly fond of. He dropped them off the side of the bed and then climbed on, kneeling between her spread legs.

“You can’t just go around ripping off my knickers. I have some really nice sets. You're lucky those weren’t nice ones.”

“I’ll buy you all the lingerie you want. But really, I would prefer if at home you didn’t wear any.”

Hermione wiped her hand up her face and into her hair, surreptitiously making sure she wasn’t drooling. Merlin, the things he was saying should be illegal. He pushed her further up on the bed, until she could recline against the pillows.

She pulled on the hand she had anchored in her hair, allowing the hint of pain to make her back arch slightly, presenting herself to Harry. He licked his lips as his gaze raked up and down her form.

“For me?” his voice was practically a purr, and she felt it wash over her.

He rucked up her skirt around her waist, baring her to him. When he met her eyes again his pupils were blown and he looked ravenous. She bit down on her lip. He brought a hand up and pulled her lip from between her teeth. He didn’t move his fingers though, instead he pressed down, signalling her to open her mouth. She did. He slid two fingers into her mouth and she couldn’t help the groan she gave. Why was this so hot? The question fled her mind as she sucked dutifully on his fingers, using her tongue to caress them. He pressed down on her tongue and she let him withdraw his fingers from her mouth, a trail of saliva clinging to them.

“You’re being so good for me, aren’t you?” Harry drew his wet fingers down her cheek and neck, pausing at the bodice of her dress. She nodded fervently, yes, she was being good for him, she just wanted to be good for him. His praise made her hyper aware of how her pussy was throbbing in time to her heartbeat.

He withdrew his wand and vanished her clothes. She fervently hoped that he had just made them go to his closet or something, because otherwise she was afraid that Lady Malfoy would kill her.

She didn’t have much time to think about it though, because then Harry’s fingers, still wet with her spit, were circling a nipple that was now bared to the slightly chill of his room. It pebbled, and his eyes were riveted on her breasts. He pinched hard once and she drew her shoulder blades back, pressing her chest forward, into the bite. The “fuck” she let out was wholly involuntary.

His grin was feral as he watched her, naked beneath his fully clothed form. He shifted and she felt the rougher material of his shirt against her stomach.

He repeated the action on her other breast and then lowered his head, kissing one then the other, and then kissing a path up her chest to her neck. As his kisses went up, his hands wandered down. They smoothed over her soft stomach,making a direct path to the apex of her thighs. Her legs were as wide as she could make them and she ached for his touch. He sucked a mark into her pulse point and brushed his fingers over the place on her body that was throbbing for his touch. He did it once, and then again, and Hermione felt like she was going to scream.

“Please,” it wasn't planned, it just slipped out, but her plea made Harry pull back, looking like the cat who caught the canary.

“Good girl,” he said sincerely, and then with very little warning, he moved back on the bed so that his head could be level with her pussy and licked a stripe down her core. 

“Fuck,” she was louder this time, her hips bucking involuntarily at the contact. He put one hand on her lower stomach, keeping her in place. He used the other to hold open her labia for better access. Hermione felt her cheeks blaze red. She must be crimson right now. Sure, she had been given head before, but Harry’s level of focus was something else, and how he was looking at her, Jesus. The eye contact he was making with her as he focused his attentions on her clit—her head dropped back to the bed and she moaned, pressing her hand against her mouth to muffle the loud noise.

Harry stopped, pulling back enough to reveal his lips and chin shiny with her slick. “No, don’t do that, I want to hear you.”

Hermione pulled her hand away from her face, grabbing on to the sheets for dear life instead as Harry leaned back down. He adjusted his grip, so that he was still holding her hips in place, but that he could use his other hand to slide one finger, then two inside of her. The stretch felt delicious. His fingers were thicker and longer than hers, and it had been a while since she had felt so full.

Normally, penetration alone didn’t do very much for her, but he was still laving his tongue over her clit, so she had no complaints. Then he crooked his fingers inside of her, drawing them back and forth over her front wall. He was watching her reaction, and it seemed like he was looking for something. His fingers pressed on a spot in her she had never been able to reach by herself, but that he had found with ease during their last encounter. Her breath stuttered and she felt her pussy clench around his fingers.

A self-satisfied smirk crossed Harry’s face and he focused on getting her off, tongue on her clit, fingers applying pressure to g-spot. Something tight and familiar was building in her abdomen, hot and insistent, but more intense than she was used to.

One of her hands fisted in his hair and he sped up just a smidge and her legs shook as she came apart around his fingers. She was babbling nonsense, some combination of curses and praises and his name over and over again. She kept up his movement through her orgasm, only pulling away and withdrawing his fingers when her pussy stopped spasming around him.

He pressed a kiss on the inside of her thigh, and then nipped, insistent and hard enough to leave a bruise. A high whimper escaped her mouth.

Leaning back on his heels, Harry began divesting himself of his clothing, starting by pulling his button up off. Hermione blinked slowly as she watched him undress, her eyes still slightly glazed over in pleasure, her body lax against the bed.

He was exquisite. His body was that of a man who did hard work. His muscles developed and defined without being showy and over the top. She worried her lip as he stripped off the rest of his clothing until he was as naked as she was. He had a pretty cock, hard and thick, the head already red. Her mouth watered and she swallowed hard.

A cocky smile came over Harry’s face as he lowered his body to cover hers.

“I told you, you’d beg. And I told you that you’d look pretty doing it.”

Hermione laughed, slapping a hand against his shoulder with no real heat behind the gesture.

He leaned down, capturing her laughter in his mouth. He smiled into their kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him even closer. The movement brought his hips down onto hers, and she felt the thick hard line of his cock against her stomach.

She unwound a hand from his neck, smoothing it between them, touching his skin. She dragged her nails down his chest, feeling his skin jerk as she made her way over his nipples, then down his stomach. 

He hissed when she finally wrapped her hand around his cock. It was hot in her hand, so thick that she could barely fit her hand around it. She kissed his neck, nipping slightly to give him a mark that would match the one he had surely given him. She continued to stroke his length, up and down, wondering for just a second how he would fit. He was bigger than anyone she had been with before.

Capturing his mouth with hers again, Harry tangled their tongue. His hips jerked in time with her strokes. 

“If you do that for much longer, this isn’t going to last much longer” Harry said, pulling back.

He repositioned himself so that her legs were splayed wide around his hips, and his cock was pressed against her core. She was so wet, aching, and all she wanted in that moment was to be full of him.

“Ready?” Harry asked, sliding the head of his cock against her clit and then down to her entrance, notching there.

Hermione arched her back, trying to urge him on with her body. “Please.”

He pressed in, his hands holding on to her hips with a grasp she was sure would leave bruises, and her breath was caught in her chest. It was the most exquisite feeling. Full, stretched, complete, and held in place being forced to take it.

The warmth that always curled under her breast bone when she was near Harry was hot like a raging fire, making her skin pulse with heat, winding her closer to him. It was like they were connected in more places than where his cock pressed into her. The feeling was overwhelming, but she never wanted it to end. 

It was Harry’s turn to curse. He let out a stifled groan as he bottomed out, fully inside of her. He stayed still for a second, allowing her time to acclimate herself to the feeling of being so incredibly full.

The fire on her skin prickled where their skin touched, making pleasure spike through her body, again and again.

“You’re so tight,” Harry said, peppering hisses across her chest and neck, “you feel so good wrapped around my cock like this.”

Hermione rolled her hips. “Move, please, fuck, Harry.” Her voice was ragged at the edges, the blood in her being singing for more.

He obeyed her demand, establishing a rhythm that was slow enough to make her want to scream, but the drag of his cock in and out of her stole her breath and her words.

Nails digging into his shoulders, she met his thrusts, the sound of their harsh panting breaths and near obscene wet sounds of their coupling filled her ears.

There was something building to a crescendo inside of her, not an orgasm, because it felt fundamentally different. It had started in her chest, and was spiralling out from them, making her breath come quicker and her limbs tense.

Harry increased his speed and shifted just enough so that the angle of penetration changed. The change was perfect, his cock dragging over and over that spot inside of her, making her legs twitch. On each thrust he was also hitting her clit, and the combination of sensations was swamping her ability to form complete thoughts.

“Are you going to come for me?” asked Harry, his voice low and demanding. “Are you going to fall apart, shaking and screaming for me? You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you?”

Hermione nodded, just coherent enough to know that he wanted an answer. The heat that had started in her chest was at her fingertips now, and she felt like she must be glowing from the sensations at this point. She met Harry’s eyes and there was something there, some combination of love, lust, and Magic.

The look in his eyes is what pushed her over the edge. Her whimper turned into a scream, and her back arched. She felt her core flutter around his cock, and his thrusts became erratic. 

The heat that had been contained by her skin seemed to seep out of her every pore, and as Harry’s cock pulsed inside of her with his release, a visible golden light that originated in her chest twined around the couple, sinking into the center of Harry’s back. He jerked slightly, and a matching light, nearly crimson in color, emanated from where his hands held her hips, sinking into her skin there.

Removing one of his hands from her hips, he brought his thumb to her clit, circling with the perfect amount of pressure. He was still hot and hard inside of her, and with the insistent touch of his hand, he made her fall apart all over again, another orgasm rocking through her body with the speed of a freight train, entirely unexpected so soon after her last.

They stayed still, both out of breath. His head dropped to her shoulder and she brought up a hand to rake through his hair. He kissed her shoulder and then twisted them, pulling her so that he was on his back and she was draped on top of him, her head now on his shoulder.

His cock slipped out of her, and their combined fluids flowed out of her, making her blush crimson at the sensation. Harry kept on hand on her hips, holding her in place, and his other hand gathered the wetness on his fingers, dragging it back of to her pussy, pressing it back inside of her. The sensation was overwhelming and embarrassing, and Hermione was powerless to stop the loud moan at the sensation of his fingers inside of her. Her hips hitched against him, but his firm grip kept her still, and he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head.

“One more,” determination evident in his tone.

She didn’t think she could do one more. She was already boneless against him, but her core throbbed in time with her pulse as he used his fingers to bring her off just one more time. It took almost no time at all, her body primed for pleasure already. She sobbed her release and then grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from the now very sensitive apex of her thighs.

He kissed her head again, wrapping an arm around her. He leaned slightly, reaching with his free hand and coming back with his wand. He murmured a cleaning spell before dropping his wand and bringing his other arm around her.

Hermione snuggled in closer to him, yawning widely, strangely unbothered by the display of magic that had just happened.

“Are we going to—” she was interrupted by another yawn, this one so big it made her jaw crack, “—to talk about what just happened? With the lights?”

Harry’s yawn mirrored hers as he ran a hand up and down her back in a soothing motion that made her eyes droop.

“We can research it in the morning.”

“Promise?” Her eyes were shut and she felt herself begin to drift.

“Yes, love. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I'm sorry for the filth, but I'm really not.
> 
> I absolutely adore hearing from you all, I can't tell you how much joy it brings me.
> 
> Also, as always my ask box is open on [tumblr,](misselylux.tumblr.com) and I'm happy to answer any questions there.
> 
> I hope you and yours are saying safe!
> 
> Ely


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